


The Shadow War

by Skyleaf19



Series: All That Remains Universe [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Assassin Legolas, Gen, On Hiatus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-04-30 03:41:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 110,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14488047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyleaf19/pseuds/Skyleaf19
Summary: As Iãgaw slowly and maliciously destroys Arda, Legolas and the Fellowship head to Rhun in a desperate search for the only things that can slay the demon: the Black Weapons. Back in Middle-Earth, Thranduil and his allies struggle to hold the Darkness back, a war unlike any other rising up to drown the world in chaos. All the while dangerous new enemies hunt them from the shadows...HIATUS. Sorry.





	1. To Form a Fellowship

" _When Darkness rules and hope is lost, the Wielders Three will rise._

_One of the mountains, one of the Kings, and one of the star-filled skies._

_On mountain's peak, in secrecy, the Black Weapons they'll find._

_In the place where the Darkness rules, and Blue is not kind._

_With blades of Black the Three must strike the heart of Arda's end._

_But beware, for They are Dark, and slay both foes and friends._

_For Light to win, and Dark to fall, there must be a price._

_In the end, blood will spill, in noble sacrifice._

_The Void will strike, the Sanctuary fall, as He slays a preserver of life_

_But He will fail, the Light prevail, with a twist of the hidden knife."_

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Legolas, known as Esgal the Assassin to many and the Lost Prince to a select few, stared intently out into the forest, as still and silent as stone. Violet eyes scanned the trees in front of him for danger, only slightly reassured that there was none by the soft voices of the Light and shadowed trees as they whispered in the back of his mind. His twin daggers were in their sheaths at his shoulders, his bow right beside them, and the assassin felt the light pressure of his throwing knives within his sleeves, but neither the familiarity of his weapons nor the peace of the forest was able to calm him, each muscle tense and ready to react if he suddenly was attacked.

It was almost ironic. Here, in the Sanctuary that Mirkwood had become, the violet-eyed elf should feel the safest, and be able to lower his guard. He should not feel the need to be ready to fight, nor watching for danger like a wolf searching for prey. Yet danger always appeared when one least expected it, and in the past month since he had revealed himself to Hannel that phrase could not be more true.

The elf standing below him seemed to disagree with that statement at the moment, however.

"Legolas, you should relax." Aglar, Crown Prince of Mirkwood, told his brother calmly, surveying the assassin with concerned blue eyes. "Nothing is going to happen."

The pale-blonde-haired elf glanced down at his silver-haired kin before looking back up and continuing his careful vigil. "I know you are most likely right. But I cannot shake the feeling that something terrible is going to happen."

"Do not tell me you have gained the ability to predict the future!" his eldest brother gasped jokingly.

Legolas gave Aglar a half-hearted shrug. "Of course not. I am just...  _concerned_  about this meeting. So many leaders and important people will all be in one place..."

"...In the Sanctuary, where Darkness cannot reach us." Aglar said persuasively. "Even so, we will not be milling around the courtyard waiting to be shot if someone  _does_  attack. Adar has posted guards around the meeting hall in two rings, with three warriors in each group. That way, if a few do turn out to be Fallen..." He trailed off, grimacing.

His youngest brother looked equally unhappy. He leapt down from the tree, landing lightly and speaking softly to the Crown Prince. "It has been two months since Iãgaw awoke, and only two weeks since the first Fallen Elves were discovered. In those two weeks,  _thirty-eight_  more Fallen Elves have been detained. And their discovery and captures were only  _after_  they started attacking their comrades. I know that the Fallen Elves are insane, disorganized, and like mindless animals at times, but I cannot help but worry that a group of them may attack the Council meeting. There is going to be a diversity of races and people there, and you know as well as I do that the Fallen tend to react negatively to people who are not like them..."

"Which is why we have the guards set up, and why Adar and the others have passed on information about the Fallen Elves to the dignitaries from the other realms." Aglar reminded the assassin. "I for one expect this meeting to run smoothly— as smoothly as it possibly can, anyway— but we are all prepared. Nothing bad will happen."

Legolas shifted his weight slightly, arms crossed over his chest. "I admire your optimism, but I will believe that when the meeting is over. Do not expect me to 'relax' any time soon."

"Fair enough." the Crown Prince agreed readily. His amiable expression faded into something more serious. "You will be right next to Adar, correct?"

 _So you are not as confident and unconcerned as you are pretending to be. You are worried as well,_  Legolas thought. "Of course. I would like to see someone try to make me stand somewhere else."

The assassin deeply hoped that arguing, irritable people would be the only excitement in the upcoming meeting. Representatives from the different Realms of Elves, Men, Hobbits, and Dwarves had all arrived in the Sanctuary for the upcoming Council, to discuss and hopefully come together in order to retrieve the only things in this world that could kill Iãgaw, the Void. The whole event was more than enough to make the violet-eyed elf nervous, and not just because of the number of influential and important people involved.

Legolas had been trained to get past guards and other safety precautions, and he could see every hole and potential weak spot in the warriors' defensive circles. It was true that none of the Fallen Elves that may attack were assassins— skilled at getting past protection in order to reach their target— but if they  _really_  wanted to kill the leaders and representatives that had gathered in the open courtyard...

 _The more people you have in a room, the more likely it is there will be trouble. And it is also more likely that an attack will result in chaos and confusion, not readiness._ The assassin kept a grimace off his face. _This could end badly._

He prayed that would not be the case.

Thranduil and most of the representatives were already in their places, the races from each realm sitting together in a wide circle around the open courtyard. The rooms normally used for meetings like this were too small for the occasion, so chairs and seats had been set out beneath the sky. Legolas took his place just behind his father, drawing a few curious glances from the ones he had never met. Those who did know of Esgal accepted that the assassin would stand beside the Elvenking, who the young elf had become quite protective of for reasons unknown by most.

The violet-eyed elf scanned his surroundings once more, eyes drifting over the diversity of races in front of him. Thranduil, Legolas's siblings, Elrond, his three children, Glorfindel, Erestor, Galadriel, Celeborn, and the Councilors were representing the elves. Thorin, Fili, Kili, Balin, Gloin, and Gimli had come from Erebor for the dwarves.

Aragorn and Boromir sat in for Gondor— the former residing beside Arwen— while Eomer, Theodred, and a few more Rohirrim came from Rohan. The men— who had had the furthest to travel— had arrived surprisingly quickly, though for Boromir it was rumored that a young Eagle had taken part in his early arrival. Then there were the hobbits, Bilbo, Frodo, Merry, Pippin, and Sam along with a couple others Legolas did not know by name. Finally there was Gandalf and Radagast.

Aglar took his seat, the last to do so, and the murmuring conversations going on around the circle ceased. All eyes turned to Thranduil, including Legolas's. His father sat tall and proud, eying those that had gathered in his kingdom with a calm grimness. Instead of looking upon the different races with coldness or contempt like he might once have, Thranduil portrayed a feeling of welcome mixed with urgency. Without preamble he began, strong voice easily heard by all.

"I thank you all for heeding my summons. As you are all aware, a great Darkness has come to our world. Iãgaw, the Void, is the physical incarnation of Darkness and evil. He is a nearly immortal demon whose goal is to conquer and slowly destroy Middle-earth before proceeding to the West and killing the Valar and obliterating all of Arda. No realm is safe from this fate if he succeeds."

The dignitaries were surprisingly without comment, all exchanging glances with their fellows that revealed each's deepest fears. Thranduil did not let them linger on their dark thoughts for too long.

"Iãgaw can be stopped, however. Through Lorien himself, Erestor has gained knowledge on how to defeat the demon. Long ago, three Black Weapons were created in the fires of Mount Doom. These Weapons— the Black Sword; Mornestel, the Black Axe; Dūrcuil, and the Black Bow and Arrows; Daesīdh— are the only things that can kill Iãgaw. Any other weapons, mundane, elven, or magical, have no affect on the Void. There are obstacles to using these Weapons as well. Only the Weapons' chosen Wielders can use them to slay Iãgaw. Any others who attempt to use them will perish."

A few people had been leaning forward, eyes bright and slightly gleaming at the thought of being the ones to kill the demon, but their expressions quickly crumbled into ones of alarm as the potential death sentence was uttered.

"Where are these weapons?" Boromir of Gondor asked, leaning forward in his seat with his hands gripping the chair arms tightly.

Legolas noted that the man's aura was slightly unsteady, emotions fluctuating unnoticed by most beneath his calm facade. The assassin scanned his face once, noticing his pale skin and tired eyes. He recalled that the man had been in Rivendell when it fell, and wondered if seeing the elven realm burn had affected him more than he let on...

"The Weapons are in Rhun." the Elvenking informed Boromir. "In a temple that is hidden in the mountains."

"In the Dark Lands?" Thorin questioned, brow furrowing. "Surely it would have been wiser to hide the Weapons here, in the Sanctuary?"

"Iagaw has no interest in the Dark Lands at the current moment." Radagast spoke up. His hair was slightly less wild and dirty than usual, and Legolas realized the Wizard had actually cleaned himself up a little bit. His robes were as messy as ever though. "In fact, I doubt he will ever go there. The realm is covered in Darkness and some of the Easterlings actually worship the likes of Morgoth and Sauron. Iãgaw has no interest in being worshiped, only in being feared. He desires opposition because he wants to crush it."

"We'll oppose him all right." Gimli growled, fingering his axe. He looked to Thranduil. "What do we need to do, Elvenking?"

More than one dignitary looked disapproving at the dwarf's blunt question, but the dwarves, Legolas, and thankfully Thranduil were all not bothered by the lack of tactful address. Out of those that did not know Gimli well, only the hobbits seemed to not care about protocol. Legolas spotted Frodo speaking softly to Bilbo, the elder hobbit looking increasingly drained with each murmured word.

"A small group of warriors need to go to Rhun, retrieve the Weapons, and bring them back so we may find the other two Wielders." the golden-haired elf responded to the dwarf firmly. "This must be done as quickly as possible. Iãgaw has been quiet for a while, but I fear he will not leave the world in relative peace for much longer. Eventually he will stop sending orcs to burn cities and will go himself. And if we do not have the Weapons to stop him,  _no one_  will stand a chance."

Thranduil looked at each of them, blues eyes dark and grave. "None can escape from this war, and it is only right that we work together to ensure that our world survives. That is why you all are here. Since we are all bound by this one dark fate, this one doom, we must unite our races to save Middle-Earth. Erestor, Aragorn, Gandalf, Elrohir, Elladan, and Esgal have already agreed to go on this quest."

The named members stood or stepped forward as one, letting those who did not know them put a name to their faces. Some showed open approval, others suspicion, but none voiced their opinions to the group.

"You can add me to that list." Gimli proclaimed without hesitation, rising to his feet. "The mountains may be different, but it would be good for you to have a warrior that knows the secrets of caves when we find this temple."

The dwarf walked confidently up to the Company and stood proudly beside Legolas. The assassin shot his friend a quick smile that the dwarf returned with ease.

"Might as well make that two 'cave-warriors'." Kili broke in cheerfully, eyes alight with an odd mix of mischief and seriousness.

He stepped beside Gimli and grinned. The auburn-haired dwarf sighed and looked skyward, muttering something uncomplimentary under his breath in his native tongue. Legolas held back a chuckle and Kili jabbed Gimli with his elbow, pouting.

"Three." Fili said instantly, moving beside his brother and placing a hand on his shoulder.

In his seat, Glorfindel looked at the dwarf brothers, then at the elven twins, and rose an eyebrow at Erestor. The scholar's eyebrow gave a small twitch but he said nothing. Meanwhile, Thorin's lips were mashed in a thin line and Legolas could see he was barely holding back protests.

"Fili." Gandalf intoned gently. "You are the Crown Prince, Thorin's Heir. It would do your people and uncle no good if you were killed on this Quest."

"If Kili goes, I go." Fili stated, a hint of dwarfish stubbornness shining through. "Besides, Iãgaw wants to kill  _everything_. I would rather die trying to find the way to stop him than sit twiddling my thumbs waiting for him to invade Erebor."

"If orcs and Shadowed Elves come to Erebor, my people can fight them without their Princes." Thorin broke in, any reluctance he might be feeling hidden behind a stoic mask. "And if Iãgaw himself does come, we will spend our efforts getting to the Sanctuary."

A few nodded, but Legolas noted that Theodred looked unconvinced. "Is Iãgaw truly so unstoppable that you would flee rather than try to fight for your home?"

The King Under the Mountain looked the Prince of Rohan straight in the eyes. "Yes. If Thranduil and Gandalf are so insistent that Iãgaw cannot be stopped, I  _fully_  believe them. I would rather save my people than have them die needlessly against a foe they cannot beat."

Theodred schooled his expression but Legolas knew his views had not changed. The Prince of Rohan flinched slightly when Eomer rose to his feet.

"I, Eomer of Rohan, also will go with you to represent both my realm and the Race of Men."

The words caused a short but intense silent battle between the two Rohirrim. Theodred looked stunned and angry, while Eomer was firm and stubborn. Legolas did not know what had caused the horseman to believe in their goal so greatly that he would go against his cousin and Prince, but he would be glad to have the strong, noble man at his side. Nothing was said, but Eomer's head tipped and Theodred sighed, nodding once.

"Eomer has my permission." the Prince of Rohan said with great reluctance, a visible grimace marring his features.

"I shall go as well."

It was not another one of the dwarves or men that spoke, but a soft, gentle voice from among the hobbits. Frodo, one hand upon Bilbo's arm, the other limp at his side, stood to his full short height, wide blue eyes surveying the diversity of races that stared at him. He shifted slightly, eyes focusing on Legolas, and the elf gave the hobbit an encouraging smile.

Frodo took a breath. "It was Bilbo that lost the Ring to the Witch-King. Because of that, the Void was released. As his kin, with him unable to go on this journey himself, I must go in his place to... to try to make things right."

None spoke as he walked over to the group, standing beside Legolas. The assassin leaned over and spoke softly in Frodo's ear. "No one blames you or Bilbo for anything." he murmured. When the hobbit said nothing, the young elf patted him once on the shoulder before letting his hand fall away.

"We're coming too!" Pippin exclaimed, jumping up with Sam and Merry following.

The hobbits got more than one odd glance or chuckle from many of the seated dignitaries, but the elves and Radagast merely blinked or smiled knowingly. The three other hobbits, though not as skilled in the ways of the warrior as the others in the company, would be much-needed additions on their mission.

Finally, Boromir exited his seat, slinging his shield over his shoulder as he strode to join the mixed company. "I will represent Gondor. I do not know how this will come to a close, but I will fight for this company and mission until the end."

The remainder of the Council observed the four elves, three men, three dwarves, four hobbits, and one Wizard who would hold the fate of their world in their hands. Old and young, experienced and naive, it would be up to all of them to succeed and bring back the Weapons that would vanquish the Void. It was quite a heavy burden to bear, Legolas mused, for the assassin even more so. Him and two other Wielders...

"Two." Fili said suddenly, eyes resting on Thranduil. "You said we would need to find two Wielders, but there are  _three_  Weapons."

"Indeed. We already know the identity of a Wielder..." Erestor cut in before the Elvenking could speak.

He trailed off, glancing at Legolas as if asking for permission. Holding back a grimace, the violet-eyed elf gave it with a nod. The others needed to know.

"...Daesīdh's Wielder— an elf as was predetermined— is Esgal."

The results were instantaneous. Dozens of gazes bore into the assassin, judging his worth and either approving or not believing as they surveyed one of their potential saviors. He cringed internally under the startled stares but the assassin kept his head high and his expression blank. Gimli gave a small chuckle that seemed out of place in the tension, and jabbed the young elf in the side lightly.

"You always have to be center of attention, don't you Esgal? Now you're one of three who can save the world." His tone was teasing but held a hint of something else as he gave the gawping observers a pointed look. They quickly avoided the dwarf's warning glare, looking sideways, at each other, or even up at the sky for some reason.

Legolas managed to smile. "Of course. Being a normal elven warrior in this war would be boring."

In reality, he would much rather be one of the  _non_ -Wielders. It was already worrying enough to know that he was a Royal, but now he was a supposed chosen one of some sort as well. The assassin found himself pushing back a wave of bitterness at the thought. He had denied the fate that the Witch-King had decided for him back in Dol Guldur, and had spent many years after fighting against what others wanted for him and for what he believed in… but did his choices truly matter?

He was the destined Wielder of Daesīdh, a duty which had been placed upon him before he was even born. The notion that his part in the upcoming battle was predetermined made his stomach twist and his fists clench in anger. Every fiber of his being raged against having to follow the path someone else decided for him. If not for the fact that denying his place as a Wielder would result in Middle-Earth falling to Darkness, he would fight against his so-called "destiny" with everything he had.

"This must be kept secret." Thranduil's tone allowed no room for debate. "If word of the Weapons or Esgal's status were to reach Iãgaw or his followers, the company would have all the evil in Arda hunting them. As far as we are aware, the Void does not think anything can kill him. We must ensure that he keeps that belief."

"Agreed." Thorin stated, Elrond, Radagast, and the others quickly conceding as well.

Gandalf stepped to the room's center, staff tapping the ground once. "The company should be ready to leave at dawn tomorrow. Time is of the essence, and we should begin our mission as soon as possible." He glanced at the sky, frowning once, then looked back to those around him. "As Thranduil said, we are all bound to a terrible fate if Iãgaw wins. Our company— a Fellowship of all our races— must put all allegiances to realm and leader aside and fight only for this quest. Once we begin, we cannot return until we succeed or perish. There is no middle ground in the upcoming war."

"I will lay down my life if need be." Aragorn stated. "As will we all."

His eyes flicked to Legolas and away, meeting Gandalf's before moving to his brothers and Erestor. The assassin did not need Galadriel's telepathy to know what was going through each of their minds. He kept his expressionless mask firmly up, barely able to keep his protest from being voiced. The Ranger had lied; not all should lay down their life for the mission.

The violet-eyed elf was the Wielder of the Black Bow, the only one who could use Daesīdh to kill Iãgaw one of three times. Not only that, but he was a Royal as well, one of the people whose death would cause the Sanctuary's magic to fail. If he died, hope would be truly lost. So it would be the Fellowship's secondary mission to make sure Legolas survived. Even if it meant sacrificing themselves for him.

…" _NO!" Ciaran shouted, twisting Legolas around and shielding the elf's body with his own. The assassin felt his mentor jerk as the arrow struck him, a gasp of pain ripping free of the man's lips. Ciaran slumped, weight falling heavily on the elf, who held the man firmly to keep him from collapsing to the ground..._

Legolas's fists clenched, nails biting into his palms.  _No one will die for me again. I will not let it come to that._

"If there is nothing left to discuss, this meeting is adjourned." Thranduil said heavily, blue eyes staying on his son's face. "Members of the Company, prepare yourselves for your journey. You will leave at dawn."

LOTRLOTRLOTR

The forest had eyes.

Thousands of them watched Carrick, man of Gondor, as he stumbled determinedly through the shadowy trees around him. It seemed like all the animals had already fled from this place, a heavy, eerie silence hanging over this section of the forest. Carrick's frantic heartbeats were the only thing he could hear, yet the soft, rhythmic pounding in his chest was too loud,  _far_  too loud.

Why could his heart not be quiet? It  _needed_  to be calm and silent. Carrick was not a warrior, not a fighter, just a small town's shoe maker, but he knew that silence and stealth had to be his allies now if he ever wanted to evade his pursuer.  _He_  was stronger than him, faster than him, and was most likely tracking the man through these very woods.

Not that following the shoe maker would be difficult. The blood dripping from a cut on his arm was leaving a trail easy enough for a newborn chick to follow, but Carrick could do little to cover his tracks. He had no time or supplies to care for the wound, and there was none around to assist him. All he could do was run, and keep running, until he hopefully reached safety. But was there any place he could call safe?

A twig snapped beneath Carrick's foot and he flinched, his foolish heart beating even louder than before. Could the hunter hear? Was he close enough? The man looked around at the dark, foreboding trees uncertainly, and was relieved when nothing leapt from the shadows to slaughter him. He was still safe. No, not safe. He was still alive. Alive alive, not dead yet.  _Alive_. For now.

He continued on, ignoring his aching feet, squinting up at the barely-visible sun as he tried to gauge whether he was going in the right direction. Shockingly he was, which gave some relief to the exhausted, terrified man. Carrick had been traveling for more than a week, barely taking any stops as he haltingly made his way to Minas Tirith. Surely if any place was safe from the  _demon_  that had attacked his home, it would be there?

Carrick shuddered, trying to push any thoughts of the demon out of his head. Instead, as if his mind itself were being invaded by  _him_ , memories of the monster forced themselves to the forefront of his consciousness. Beautiful, terrible, and stronger than anything Carrick had ever seen, the demon had appeared in his village out of nowhere. Before the villagers could do more than stare at the intruder, before the shoemaker could even gasp in surprise, all around him had  _collapsed_  like abandoned puppets, blank, unseeing eyes revealing their bitter fates.

Something invisible had swept through the little town like an inferno through dry grass, killing all in sight. But unlike fire this plague, this Dark power, had left no marks. The only proof that death had come were the lifeless bodies of women, children, and men, and single, beautiful, horrifying monster that had come and somehow slaughtered them all.

Carrick did not know how or why he survived whatever the demon had done that had killed his fellow villagers, and he had not stayed around to test his luck. He ran from the demon— who did not seem to spot him— his only injury coming from gouging his arm on the edge of a wooden cart as he fled. The wound stung, and was most likely infected, with tiny splinters stuck in the broken skin, but Carrick did not care. All he knew was that he needed to keep running, keep fleeing, in a desperate attempt to stay ahead of the demon that may or may not be chasing him.

He just wanted to escape. He just wanted to be safe. He just wanted to  _live_.

The shoe maker walked three more steps, faltering as he came upon a sharp downward slope. With a startled cry he descended, tumbling head over heels down to the bottom, where he was abruptly halted by a boulder twice the size of him. Carrick lay there for a long moment, winded and stunned, and tried to gather the strength to rise and continue on. His fall, however, seemed to have drained him of any remaining energy he had possessed. He was a turtle flipped onto its back, only able to helplessly wiggle as he attempted to right himself. Wheezing, the man lay there, shutting his tired eyes in an attempt to summon up the necessary energy to move.

"Well, that was entertaining."

The voice came from nowhere and everywhere, purring and smooth and beautiful and  _dark_. Carrick froze, eyes snapping open before they widened in terror. Before him was the  _demon_ , the monster, the Dark creature that haunted his every thought since he first laid eyes on him. Black hair fell like a curtain made of Darkness down the black-clothed back, sucking in all light around it like an abyss swallowed a torch. Pointed ears peeked out from between the dark strands, and glowing, hypnotic crimson eyes peered gleefully down at Carrick, only made brighter in contrast to his shadow-colored sclera and skin.

Carrick had always been told that Dark creatures like orcs and Nazgûl were only threats at night, or when clouds covered the sun. Monsters were not supposed to be able to come out during the day time. They were supposed to only be able to mingle with shadows and darkness. But this demon stood proudly and apathetically in the bright sunlight, standing idly beneath the brilliant blue sky without a care for the rays that should have been burning his skin. It should not be possible. How could the Valar let such a monster walk in the Light?

Carrick found himself unable to move, paralyzed as the Darkness the demon exuded pressed down on him. He could not even find the ability to scream, only able to stare at the demon in open fear. The dark, elf-like features twisted into a mockery of a friendly expression. Carrick never knew that what could be considered a kind smile could ever be so frightening.

"It has been quite amusing to watch you stumble and run like the little mouse you are for this past week," the demon said in a pleasant voice, speaking to the man like he was an old friend he had run into at the market. "Men are so unobservant. You never even noticed me..."

Around him, the trees blackened and died.

Carrick watched with horrified fascination as the moss on the rock beside him turned from bright green to grey before crumbling into dust. He cowered, expecting to follow the plants into death's embrace, only to remain firmly in his body, again unaffected by whatever power the crimson-eyed creature had. Before Carrick could sort any thoughts in his head, the demon chuckled and spoke.

"Do not think you are special, little mortal. You are only alive because I wanted to test myself. I have been practicing, you see." the demon explained patiently. "It is harder then you think, draining away the life of everything around someone while letting only them live. If I can resist  _devouring_  you—" Carrick swore those mesmerizing red eyes glowed a little brighter. "—an insignificant little man, then I most definitely will have the restraint to avoid killing the Valar while I  _ **destroy... everything... around them...**_ "

His voice deepened, echoing and harsh, and something in Carrick seemed to rip in half. He screamed in pain, cringing as  _something_  tried to separate itself from his body, pulled in by the enticingly Dark aura surrounding the demon. It was as if an orc was tearing out his heart, its claws digging into his flesh as it attempted to separate the organ from his body. Carrick wished that was what was happening to him. At least if his heart was being torn out the pain would end. This pain did not.

The crimson-eyed creature eyed him for a moment, watching Carrick writhe and shriek in the dirt with a small smile on his face as the man clawed at the ground, eyes rolling back into his head. Then the demon sighed, scoffing lightly. There was no visible movement or change but the pulling feeling receded, leaving Carrick gasping and quivering, perspiration running down his face. The demon tipped his head, tapping his chin idly with a long finger as he studied the shoe maker.

"My little test is over now..." the monster informed him idly. "I don't need you any more. And now you do not have enough energy left to even be considered a snack for me." For the first time he frowned, looking genuinely disappointed as he ignored Carrick's whimpers. "Your kind always did have such little Light in you, it is no surprise almost all of yours is gone. What to do, what to do..."

He stared blankly into space, thinking deeply as he considered the man's fate, but before Carrick could even consider trying to crawl away red eyes focused on him once more, lighting up like a child who had just received sweets. "I have an idea! You have lasted a week of harsh travel with an injury, an exceptional feat for a man, I must admit... and I cannot help but wonder how long you will last with more...  _extensive_  wounds. I have always wondered what the  _inside_  of a man looks like..."

The shadows beneath the trees rippled, peeling away from the earth like monsters rising from the abyss, and Carrick screamed. But in the dead, shadowy graveyard, not even the trees were around to hear him.


	2. The Touch of Death

The room was entirely too somber for Legolas's liking. Violet eyes drifted from his father to each of his siblings, who sat quietly around the Queen's Garden as if they were unsure of what to do with themselves. Aglar was staring blankly into the distance, Barhad was sitting at the base of the tree with his head in his hands, and Hannel was perched on the edge of a chair next to the center-most tree. Though dawn was not far away, the sky was still dark, the only light coming from a few torches placed strategically around the edge of the garden.

Normally the Royal Family of Mirkwood gathered in the garden to relax and spend time together away from prying eyes, but as night turned to day there was no more laughter and meaningless conversations. Instead troubling fear swept through the King and his older children, fear that they all were trying so hard to hide from Legolas. If not for his awareness of the energies around him, they may have succeeded. But the assassin could sense his family's growing worry.

"I do not want you to go." Hannel confessed suddenly, face pale and strained. When all eyes turned to her she continued in a rush, her silent fear breaking free of its constraints. "Legolas, you only truly returned to us a few weeks ago. And now... now you are leaving again." Her hands fluttered uselessly as if she was trying not to grab something, and her bright blue eyes were distant. She hesitated, a pleading, pained note entering her beautiful voice. "Are you certain that you must go?"

Legolas walked over to his sister and hugged her, wincing internally as she shook in his arms. "I have to." he murmured, violet eyes scanning the sad faces of his other family members. "I will be fine, Hannel. I  _will_  come back."

For that was what she feared the most, losing her little brother to the Darkness again. His death would be catastrophic in more ways than one, but Legolas being captured by the Shadow once more could just as easily push his family past the breaking point.

"We know." Thranduil murmured, encasing his eldest daughter and youngest son in the warm safety of his arms. "We know you will not be lost to us again, Little Leaf. You will return. And when you do, we will be here. All of us."

Legolas knew that nothing was certain, as did the rest of his siblings, but it was comforting to hear his father say it all the same. For as much as his family feared for his safety on the quest, the assassin feared for their safety more. They would not be sitting idly in the Sanctuary while he ran off to fight the Darkness. If the need arose— and it  _would_ — his family would be off to assist their allies should the enemy attack them. Plus Megilag, Fael, and Bereneth were out Valar knows where, searching for their brother where he would not be found.

Shortly after Boromir's arrival, Gandalf had sent the young Eagle who had brought the man of Gondor to Mirkwood out to find the three Royals and bring them back. Iãgaw's shadows could not reach the sky, so the Eagle would not be discovered and tracked by the demon. No word had come from him since then, though Legolas was relieved at least steps had been taken to try to retrieve his siblings.

The assassin did not know how the Eagle, Thiad, would convince them to return if he found them, but now he could hope for their safe recovery. Still, the violet-eyed elf could not help but wonder why the other Eagles had not come to Mirkwood for the Council. And why they could not give the Fellowship a lift to the temple in Rhun.

Aglar and Barhad joined their little huddle, and Legolas felt both joyful and saddened as his family merely held each other, waiting for dawn to come as they spoke their private goodbyes. When the sun finally rose they all were dry-eyed, their secret fears hidden beneath practiced masks of calm indifference. With final hugs and murmured farewells, the Royals went their separate ways, leaving Legolas to pack his few belongings and think.

His weapons, some lembas that Cook had laid out for him, and other necessities were packed in a small traveling sack or on his person within minutes, and he turned to stare at the guest room that had officially become his not so long ago. A sudden unwillingness to leave swept over Legolas, followed swiftly by a desire to depart and travel the world once more.

He had been to Rhun before, and while it was not the desolate, fire-filled realm painted in many Middle-earth stories, it was not the most pleasant place to be either. He would miss the remaining green leaves of Mirkwood, the childlike shadowed trees, and— most importantly— the family he had just regained, but he was needed outside of the Sanctuary and the place of safety his old home had become.

"Esgal?"

The assassin turned to his door, smiling the slightest bit as Glorfindel entered his room. "Gwador. Have you come to say goodbye as well?"

The Balrog Slayer nodded. "Yes. And to walk my Tithen Gwador to the gates."

"At least  _you_  get to say goodbye to me there." the young elf murmured softly, then sighed.

Glorfindel's eyebrow rose in a question, urging him to share his thoughts.

"...I know this is silly, but a part of me wishes I could be hugged by and bid farewell my family in public without people wondering why." Legolas confessed. "But I know that now is the worst time to hint that there is any familial relationship between me and them."

_Nor do I want anyone to know I'm a… Prince_. Even after weeks of knowing the truth, Legolas still cringed internally at the last word. Being Thranduil's son he could easily accept. Being a Prince? No.

"I do not think that is silly at all." Glorfindel said lightly. "But I'm afraid you'll just have me to see you off on your journey. Officially, anyway. I am just concerned that Hannel might run up to you with a wagon-full of lembas. And an extra cloak. And a map. All while asking questions to make sure you did not forget anything and to make sure you wash behind your ears..."

The mental image of Hannel doing just that came to the forefront of Legolas's mind and he chuckled. "She would do that if she could, wouldn't she? She does seem like the type..." The violet-eyed elf trailed off, thoughts drifting. "You will be here to help with the war once it starts, correct?"

The Vanya gave a nod of assent.

Legolas looked down and away from him, eying the end of the hall. "If you could... can you... can you keep them safe?" The assassin paused, momentarily embarrassed by how child-like the question sounded, but Glorfindel's understanding expression put his mind at ease.

"I will. And not just because they are Royals." the golden-haired elf promised. "I'll protect them as fiercely as the shadowed trees defend this realm. And with just as much viciousness as well."

The Balrog Slayer was no longer joking, each word spoken with a dark intensity that swept away any lingering worry in Legolas's mind.

"Thank you." he murmured, just as they reached the gate.

Everyone else was coming in as they did, the Fellowship gathered just inside the gate, at the edge of the bridge. Legolas was happy to note that the races were intermingling already. Aragorn was speaking with Gandalf and Erestor, the twins and dwarf Princes looked to be already plotting something, and the hobbits and Gimli were chatting with the other two men. Gimli spotted the assassin first and waved him over.

"Esgal!"

The violet-eyed elf turned to Glorfindel and opened his mouth, only to be caught in a fierce hug. The assassin hugged him back readily, keeping still as his sworn brother gave him a platonic kiss on the forehead.

"Be safe and come home, Esgal." Glorfindel murmured, and Legolas knew he was not just speaking the blessing for himself, but for the family who could not openly say farewell.

The Balrog Slayer let go, and the assassin joined Gimli and his little gathering of hobbits and men.

"Hello Esgal!" Pippin greeted with his usual energy.

The other hobbits shifted aside as if to give more room for them in their huddle, expressions open and welcoming, though Sam and Merry still looked to be slightly intimidated by the mysterious elven assassin. Gimli was pleased to see him, his smile mostly hidden by his beard. Eomer and Boromir were more guarded, and Legolas could sense the wariness and slight discomfort in their auras and stances. To his great surprise, it was Boromir who spoke to him next.

"I do not believe we have ever officially met. I am Boromir, son of Denethor, heir to the Stewardship of Gondor." he bowed slightly before extending his hand in greeting.

Not missing a beat, Legolas bowed back and clasped the offered forearm firmly. The man's armor was cool beneath his fingers. "Esgal of Mirkwood. It is an honor to meet you."

"Likewise. I have heard from Eomer about your triumph over the Witch-King. Thank you for slaying that menace. He was a plague on Gondor, sending forces to kill our people and burn our towns to the ground." There was an edge to Boromir's voice, but the assassin knew it was not directed at him.

Legolas could not quite keep the slightly feral, triumphant grin from flashing over his face. "Trust me, I was happy to separate his head from his shoulders."

He met the Captain of Gondor's eyes and a moment of understanding passed between them. Boromir released his arm, nodding once. "I know many men who would be happy to as well. Now only seven of the Nine are left."

"That's good, isn't it?" Merry joined the conversation, looking oddly solemn. "The less Ringwraiths there are, the less of those dragon-things we'll have to deal with."

Legolas grimaced, remembering the "dragon-things'" parts in the destruction of the Shire. Gimli also seemed to notice the hobbits' sudden sadness and changed the subject.

"I know that Frodo can fight, but what of the rest of you?" He asked gruffly. "Have you ever held a blade or gone on adventures?"

Merry and Pippin brightened instantly. "Oh, yes!" The youngest hobbit said eagerly. "Frodo, the elves, and Strider have been teaching us! Well, Merry and I mostly, but Sam has learned a little bit too."

The gardener's cheeks colored and he studied his hairy feet. "I know more than I did, but I'm not exactly the fighting type, you see. I'm more of a... cooking and helping type?" Uncertainty clouded his features.

Gimli gave a barking laugh, patting the hobbit on the back hard enough to make him stumble forward a step. "That's good, laddie! We're going to need 'cooking and helping types' once we get out in the wild. These flighty elves just gave us a bunch of  _bread_  to take with us and we'll need a good cook on the road."

"A few bites of the bread the 'flighty elves' gave you can fill a man for days." the elf in their midst said pointedly, violet eyes twinkling. "Although you eat as much as ten oliphaunts, so I'm not certain how long  _your_  rations will last..."

Gimli mock-glared at the assassin. "I'm sure yours will last the entire trip, elf. You're as thin as one of the twigs from those trees you love so much."

Legolas nodded sagely. "But that is the point, my dear rotund dwarf. How else are we elves supposed to hide in the branches?"

Sam unsuccessfully tried to hide a giggle behind his hand. When they all looked at him, the hobbit explained. "I'm sorry. sirs. I was just trying to imagine Mister Gimli hiding in trees."

The thought alone was enough to get chortles from multiple members of their little group. Eomer, however, remained silent, staring out into the forest with blank eyes. Legolas frowned, eyes flicking around the crowded entrance, before they softened in understanding. Theodred and the other emissaries from Rohan were nowhere to be seen.

_Did they already leave, refusing to see Eomer off? It was tense between him and his cousin yesterday, but surely they did not separate on bad terms?_  The assassin thought. Eomer's sad expression and troubled aura said otherwise. Legolas grimaced.  _So perhaps it is not wariness that is keeping him so quiet. I just hope they will have the chance to reconcile later._

"Members of the Company!" Gandalf called, drawing their attention. "It is time to depart! Say your final farewells, and let us begin our journey!"

The Fellowship broke away from each other one more time, walking to loved ones to say their final goodbyes. Thorin dropped his stoic mask to hug Fili and Kili. Bilbo looked like he was going to crush Frodo with bear-like grasp. Elrond had his hands planted on Elrohir and Elladan's shoulders, looking piercingly into their eyes as if to memorize each detail of their identical faces. Arwen gently kissed Aragorn near the wall, where the two thought no one could see. Legolas met Glorfindel's eyes from where he stood next to Boromir and Eomer, nodding once. They had already said all they needed to.

Then the two men besides Legolas shifted, and the assassin looked up to see Thranduil before him. The Elvenking was regal and calm in every way. Except for his eyes. His blue eyes held every emotion imaginable, so chaotic and revealing of his feelings that Legolas could barely stand to look. Love, joy, sorrow, grief, fear, pride, and raw determination could all be seen in his father's gaze as he looked at the assassin that was his youngest child.

"Be safe. Be strong. You will return to us victorious." Thranduil stated, but Legolas knew every hidden meaning behind those words of farewell.  _I love you_.  _I'm so proud of you_.  _I cannot lose you_.  _We_ _ **will**_ _see each other again._

"Of course." Legolas murmured, feeling as if he were uttering a promise.

Thranduil smiled, a gentle, emotional smile that mirrored his turbulent eyes. But in an instant it was gone, and he again became the Elvenking. The Fellowship gathered outside the gate, with Erestor and Gandalf up at the front, leading the way. The Company walked over the bridge and into the dark shadows of Mirkwood, leaving the Palace behind.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Thranduil felt none of the calmness or serenity he was showing as he watched his youngest leave. Hidden beneath a mask of indifference, his heart wailed in panic and his hands shook as Legolas vanished from sight. Beside him, Aglar's hands were clasped tightly in front of him, betraying his own fear, and Hannel was gripping Lachon's arm so tightly the Elvenking was surprised the ellon could still feel it. Even Barhad was twitching slightly, staring intently at the leaving Fellowship as if he were resisting the urge to sprint after them.

But only Thranduil noticed his children's despair and fear. They were Royals, and hid their emotions well while beneath the scrutiny of others. That did not mean that they did not have emotions. They did not want Legolas to go. They wanted to protect their youngest, to keep him where he could not be harmed after he had been out in the dangerous world alone for so long. But they could not.

Legolas was needed on this quest, and even when he returned he would still have to fight and kill the Void. The thought only made the Elvenking's silent suffering worse, but he could not give in to fear. He had to trust Legolas to be strong. He had to believe that he would come back to his family.

He had to believe that his youngest would survive.

Fifteen people were going on the quest to Rhun. Three of his other children were South searching for answers they would not find. Would all of them return? Would any? The thought burrowed itself deep into the blue-eyed elf's mind but he had to ignore it. He had to focus on leading his people, as he always had.

So before he turned to address Elrond and Galadriel to discuss their next move, Thranduil closed his eyes, and silently prayed to any greater power that would listen.  _Please, let all of my children be safe. Please let them all come home._

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Under the cover of darkness, Bereneth climbed lightly up a stony ridge. With the hood of her cloak up to limit the visibility of her elven glow in the night, the golden-haired Princess peered over the ridge's top, frowning at what she saw. In the distance, clear to her far-seeing eyes, were the dark, tall peaks of the Ash Mountains, the natural wall that surrounded Mordor. Not far to the South was the Black Gate, the entrance to the Dark land, which was not within her sight. Bereneth planned to keep it that way. She slid down the ridge, landing beside Megilag and Fael, who both looked at her expectantly.

"I spotted no foes within a few leagues," she reported. "It seems that the Void is still not interested in sending his forces through Rhovanion."

Her older brother cupped his chin with his hand, staring into the distance as he thought about this. "We've been lucky to run into no enemies as of yet, but I have a feeling that will not last much longer. We should head South-West rather than directly South from now on. It would be best to stay as far away from the Black Gate as possible."

The other two nodded and they continued on their way, keeping a wary eye out for any Dark forces that could hide among the nooks and crags around them. There were far too many shadows around for Bereneth's liking, and that was coming from an elleth that had lived in shadowy Mirkwood for centuries. She supposed it was better than being in an open field where there would be no place to hide, but for some reason this place was making her uncomfortable.

Or maybe it was just the thought of their mission that made her so tense. The golden-haired elleth looked up at the gloomy sky, gripping her sword hilt tightly as her thoughts ran in the same circles they had been ever since they found out Legolas was alive. Instead of being relieved or happy about the news, it angered Bereneth. And she did not know why.

Perhaps she was angry at the orcs for taking her brother and holding him captive for all of these years. Perhaps she was angry at her father for believing an orc when it claimed Legolas had been killed. Perhaps she was angry at herself for failing her youngest sibling.

Or maybe she was angry at him.

"Bereneth?"

She looked at Fael, who was glancing back at her with open concern in his bright green eyes.

"Are you all right?" he asked cautiously.

"I'm perfectly fine." she told him, quickening her pace so she was behind Megilag, who was leading them now.

The silence while they walked was necessary but still unnerving. They did not want to go tramping along like a horde of rowdy dwarves in what was potential enemy territory, but Bereneth wished that the silence could be filled with something other than her own dark thoughts.

It was not long before her wish was granted.

"Did you hear that?" Fael asked suddenly, standing stock still with an arrow notched to his bow.

His siblings drew their own weapons, each scanning the seemingly empty rocks with wary eyes.

"What did you hear?" Megilag asked urgently, gaze still moving over their surroundings.

"Hissing." the green-eyed elf answered firmly. "It sounded like..." He stiffened, then spun, shooting at something behind and above Bereneth.

The arrow hit something, a loud, familiar screech sounding through the air. Bereneth sprang out of the way as a Spider fell down the rocks behind her, still shrieking. She ended its cries with a swift stab of her sword, then raised it defensively.

"What is a Spider doing here?"

"The Spiders were forced to flee out of Mirkwood..." Meglag reminded her slowly. Then he tensed. "I think I know where they went. Back to back!"

No sooner had his siblings obeyed him did more Spiders rise up from the ground, hidden by the rocks and crags around them.

_There must be tunnels underneath us!_  Bereneth thought.  _This is their new nest!_

Luckily for the elves, the Spiders still seemed to be getting used to the new territory they had made their own. The creatures could did not have coverage or trees to hide in like in Mirkwood, so they charged the elves like a distorted stampede of horses.

Bereneth stabbed the first Spider in the head, slashing another across its bulbous eyes. Behind her, Fael was shooting arrow after arrow, carefully choosing targets so he could hopefully retrieve the weapons later. Megilag fought with his usual, rapid grace, quick, deadly stabs that slayed any monsters that got too close.

The golden-haired elleth swept her blade in a downward arc, beheading another giant arachnid, cutting off the legs of its kin. The Spider's shrieks were grating on the ears and she quickly ended its misery with a sharp stab through the back. A white substance shot out of the dark and she sidestepped the web, only to hear a yell behind her.

The webbing had caught Fael on his arm and he found himself grounded, dragged swiftly towards the Spider that menacingly stood on its back legs. Bereneth moved before she fully registered what was happening, slashing at the Spider as it tried to pin her brother beneath it. The Spider went down on all eight legs, one stabbing like a spear, and Fael screamed in pain as the sword-like appendage stabbed into his shoulder.

Bereneth saw red.

She roared, an odd mix between a scream and a snarl, and lunged for the Spider, sword swinging in wide, erratic arcs. She forgot that there were other Spiders. She forgot about her mission and Legolas. She even forgot about Megilag, who was still fighting behind her.

All she knew was fury, a dark, insatiable desire to spill blood raging through her like a torrent. The Spider had attacked her family. It had hurt her brother. It. Would.  _Die_.

_Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill_. A voice in her head chanted.

Her blade sank into the Spider's side, and she smiled in triumph as it screamed in pain.

_Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill._

She yanked the blade free, quickly but painfully, then sliced through the creature's legs, severing all four on one side. She laughed as it fell over, its remaining legs twitching in agony.

_Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill._

Bereneth kicked the Spider hard enough to send it slamming into a rock, then approached with slow, methodical steps, its blood dripping off her blade.

_Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill!_

Its eight eyes were filled with fear, an emotion such worthless creatures should not be capable of, as it looked up at her. She bared her teeth in a savage grin. It  _should_  be afraid.

_**Kill!** _

She stabbed it. Once, twice, thrice. Her blade sank through hard exoskeleton like it was butter, again and again and again. The cold smile never left her face as the Spider stopped screaming and twitching, black blood flying about her like sticky spray. Even when the life faded from its eyes she did not cease, her sword hacking at the Spider's corpse with feral ferocity.

It deserved the pain she was causing it. It deserved its death. How dare this inferior creature harm her brother! It deserved agony. It deserved suffering. Nothing was too brutal for it—!

"—reneth, stop! Its dead! Stop, Bereneth!"

Megilag's voice reached the elleth through a haze. She blinked rapidly, the red fading from her vision, and returned to reality. It was silent, eerily silent, like the calm before a thunderclap. More like after a thunderclap this time. All of the Spiders were gone or slain. The Princess of Mirkwood breathed heavily, feeling as if she had just run for miles, and focused on the sight in front of her.

The Spider was most definitely dead. Without a doubt. The bodies of the Dark creatures never bothered her, but Bereneth was suddenly sick to her stomach at the sight of it. Not because of the corpse itself, but because of what she saw in its reflective eyes.

Bereneth saw herself.

Her face was still twisted into an expression of pure rage, her eyes cold and merciless. She did not look like a calm, serene, elf, but a feral creature that just so happened to be wearing an elf's skin. Her glow was still there, her visage still beautiful and bright, but her eyes were murderous. Dark.

Bereneth flinched and looked away from her reflection, eyes drifting to Fael, who was sitting on the ground with a hand to his shoulder. The wound was not as bad as she had feared, the Spider's leg not stabbing as deeply as it had seemed. Still, the wound needed to be treated.

The golden-haired elleth stepped forward, reaching out to her brother. "Are you all right?"

He twitched but allowed her to inspect his wound. Bereneth did not know what she would have done if he had shied away from her. "It's all right. The wound is not that bad."

"Says the fool that left a splinter in his hand so long it got infected." Megilag said lightly, kneeling beside Bereneth and taking a roll of bandages and some healing cream from his bag. "Let me put this on."

Fael looked decidedly away from his brother as he cleaned the wound, wincing slightly. His green eyes met Bereneth's filled with concern and... wariness. "Are  _you_  all right?"

Her response was instantaneous. "Of course I am." she said huffily, and scowled.

But was she really? Bereneth was not certain that she could believe her own words. The rage, the savagery, the darkness in her eyes... they all reminded her of one thing. But it was impossible. It could not be. The magic that powered the Sanctuary was supposed to keep that from ever happening. However, the facts all burned and connected within the golden-haired elf's mind, breaking through her denial to haunt her every thought. It could not be true. She was just paranoid and on edge after the attack.

There was no way that Bereneth could be becoming a Shadowed Elf.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Riagán, self-proclaimed rightful heir to Blue Harbor, hacked at a training dummy— which happened to be an orc's corpse— set up inside the insidious Minas Morgul. He could feel the Darkness around him coating his skin and giving him strength, each focused, harsh slash and stab going deeper into the dummy than was possible for a normal man. But Riagán was no longer normal.

Ever since he had agreed to serve the Void, he had been growing exceptionally stronger, a new power and vigor in his limbs that had been absent for years. The man did not know what his 'deal with the demon' had done to him, nor did he care. Iãgaw could eat his soul if it resulted in Strider's head on a platter. But he would not need the demon when he came face to face with that Ranger.

Riagán was stronger and faster than ever, fueled by the Darkness that had settled in his veins, and he was itching to begin his hunt. The occasional death-battle with orcs to test and get used to his skills was no longer enough, and if Iãgaw did not let him loose soon, Riagán was going to head out on his own, consequences be damned. His companion was not helping with his dwindling patience either.

Riagán cut off the arm of the corpse with a viscous swipe, turning to glare at the Shadowed Elf behind him. "Stop blabbering on about your 'Lord' or you are going to end up like  _him_."

Pitch black eyes focused on him, and Amulug responded in a reverent voice the man was starting to despise. "There is no need for such impatience. You must not question Our Lord's reasons, mortal. He has not sent us out to spread the chaos of his Dark ways because he has not yet found a mission to suit his greatest followers."

The man debated whether to get into yet another 'conversation' with the fanatical elf or not as he continued to practice. He exchanged his sword for his other favorite weapon: a long, barbed whip. While not the most common weapon in Middle-earth by a long shot, the man had enough experience under his belt to use the weapon efficiently in both melee battles and for other more malicious activities. He called over an orc, watching it approach with cautious, slow steps, before responding to Amulug.

"Your master had better find a mission for his 'greatest followers' soon. Personally I think he's just killing what he wants to when he wants to with the mindless slaves you call kin."

With a sharp crack his whip sang through the air, easily beheading the orc from twenty feet away. The man watched the body fall with disgust. "This one didn't even try to dodge." he muttered coldly. "Pathetic."

"I have been  _enlightened_  by our Lord. I believe in his great plan to cleanse the world and bring back its true state." Amulug said softly, ignoring the death that had happened right in from of him. Then his black eyes narrowed. "Unlike a certain disbeliever."

"Was that  _disdain_  I heard in your voice?" Riagán questioned with a sneer. "I did not know you were capable of such an emotion."

Amulug shot him a look of utter loathing. "Delorcion. I can see why my Lord has not chosen you to be one of his disciples..."

Riagán ignored the Shadowed Elf as he continued to ramble about his Lord's righteousness and how the chaos of the world would cease as it was brought to the peace of nothingness. He soon paid attention, however, when the Shadowed Elf dropped into a low bow, forehead on the ground.

"My Lord."

Iãgaw appeared out of the shadows, literally, the darkness stripping from his frame like ink falling from black paper. The demon looked exceptionally pleased today. Riagán idly wondered how many Iãgaw had killed in order to make him so happy. The man decided he did not care.

"Riagán. Amulug." The Void greeted with his usual wide smile.

"My Lord." the Shadowed Elf murmured again. Riagán just grunted.

"Do not be so unenthusiastic, Riagán." Iãgaw chided. "There is someone I want you both to finally meet..."

The shadows moved— not literally this time— and a figure stepped out of them, standing beside the demon. It was a man dressed completely in black, with a hood covering his head and a face-mask over his face, his eyes hidden by the shadow of his cowl. He was fairly tall, just shorter than Riagán, with the slightly muscular build of one who fought but spent time sneaking around.

_A knife in the dark,_  the man thought, though he did not know why.

"This is Provadok, and I must admit that I am impressed with him." Iãgaw said, patting the cloaked man's head like one would stroke an adored pet. "He is a mortal assassin, and was the first of my Shades to awaken. Not only that, but he is already fully functional."

There was no expression to be seen, all emotions covered by the black face-mask and cowl, and the man seemed unmoved by the demon's blatant invasion of his personal space. A sharp crack soon proved otherwise, and Iãgaw's retreated, shaking his hand in the air like one would in an attempt to ward off pain but with a smirk on his face. Amulug's expression twisted into one of absolute rage.

He leapt forward, sword raised. "How dare you—!"

"It is all right, Amulug." Iãgaw interrupted.

The Shadowed Elf instantly retreated, murmuring reverent apologies. Provadok had not even twitched. Riagán could not even tell if he had noticed the angry elf coming at him.

"That was rude, Provadok." the Void told the man. "If I had not been me, you would have broken my arm."

Provadok offered no apology or excuse, not even looking at the demon, but Iãgaw just laughed. Riagán could feel his eyebrows inching up his forehead despite himself. He had seen what happened to clumsy orcs that had bumped into the Void before. The demon had taken great pleasure in ripping them apart with his shadows. Iãgaw must truly be impressed with this 'Shade' to laugh after the man had touched him.

Riagán looked back at the Shade, and noticed the hood was facing his direction. Provadok stared at the man in silence, expression hidden by his cowl and face-mask. Riagán shifted beneath his unseen gaze, unsettled by the sheer intensity of it.

The man did not notice the small knife that fell into Provadok's palm. The assassin tipped his head slightly, considering his options with the dagger lying limply in his hand, ready to be thrown. Then his head straightened, the knife silently sheathed, all without Riagán seeing a thing.

The other man felt the gaze cease in intensity and scowled at Provadok. "So you managed to impress Iãgaw for waking up early. Consider me  _not_  impressed."

Amulug hissed angrily, Iãgaw laughed, and Provadok just... stared. Riagán was slowly finding the scrutiny annoying.

"What, did I hurt your feelings?" No reaction. "Are you deaf?" Silence. "Are you even listening—?"

Provadok looked up. The cowl slipped back slightly, revealing his upper face, and Riagán found himself staring into the coldest hazel eyes he had ever seen. A chill went up his spine. Some found Riagán's own eyes scary, his need for vengeance showing like a gate to insanity, but Provadok's eyes were far more terrifying than his own could ever be.

They held  _nothing_. No joy, no sadness, no anger, no grief, no need for vengeance. Looking into those emotionless hazel orbs, Riagán instantly knew that this was a man— a weapon— who could kill anyone without hesitation or the slightest bit of remorse. This man lived for killing, though he did not revel in it, as impartial and apathetic as a sword. He did not care who he was sent to slay. He would kill for his wielder until a new one found him, and if necessary he would stab that old master in the back. No loyalty, no emotions, no friends.

A weapon to his core.

"You are not the one I wish to kill." Provadok stated without emotion.

He reached up a hand, pulling the cowl back in place, and Riagán found that he could breathe again. Iãgaw clapped once, making Amulug and the man from Blue Harbor twitch.

"That was fun. Now that introductions are over... Provadok. How is my guest? Has he been singing?"

The assassin said nothing, merely shaking his head once.

Iãgaw sighed, almost sounding sad. "Oh well. I do not actually need him to tell me anything, but it was fun to see if he would break..." He looked at his two unaware followers, eyes glinting. "Would you like to meet our guest?"

"Of course, my Lord!" Amulug exclaimed, as eager as a child who wanted to impress his parent.

Riagán merely shrugged, though he was curious despite himself.

As they ascended up the dark staircase in Minas Morgul, Riagán heard murmuring sounds from within one of the rooms they passed. He stopped and turned his head, peering into the dark doorway. For a moment there was nothing. Then, he found himself staring into glowing silver-blue eyes. The man paused in the hall, stepping towards it, and the door immediately slammed in his face. His startled expression became a scowl, which only deepened when Iãgaw chuckled.

"Do not disturb my other Shades, Riagán. They are shy around strangers."

So Provadok was not the only Shade then. What  _was_  a Shade? Riagán's pushed the thought out of his mind, deciding he did not care. As long as the 'Shades' did not kill Strider, they could do and be whatever they wanted.

They went to the topmost tower, Iãgaw opening the door and walking inside. "Hello, old friend. I brought some others to meet you..."

Riagán's eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room, and he blinked once in shock. Before him, hanging with spiked chains around his wings and feet, bloody, beaten, and separated from the sky, was an Eagle.

It looked nothing like the ones described in the stories he had heard long ago, however. Not anymore. Once beautiful plumage was bloody and covered with grime, chunks of feathers missing to expose abused, off-color skin. Large, dull eyes filled with angry fire as the great bird glared at the Void, beak firmly shut.

"Not to worry, my Lord Gwaihir. I am not intending to torture you anymore." The tone the demon used was far from soothing to anyone, sounding more like poisoned honey than anything.

Gwaihir opened his beak, emitting a terrible wheezing sound. Yet even without words, Riagán knew the Lord of the Eagles was cursing the Void. The demon seemed to be having the same thoughts.

"There's no need to be rude. I already  _sincerely_  apologized for killing all of your kin." Iãgaw said with mock-shame. "I just could not control myself, I fear. All those delicious Lights to devour..."

Gwaihir glared, though his eyes were filled with a grief Riagán could not— and did not want to— understand.

"But I have wonderful news, my friend." Iãgaw continued. "Your time with us is over, because I do not need you anymore. While I was out searching for mortals to kill, my sight fell upon an odd little group of horse men in Rhovanion. They were talking about a meeting they had just attended. A very...  _special_... meeting."

The demon's words held no meaning to Riagán, but the Eagle's large eyes widened the slightest bit.

Iãgaw did not seem to notice the Wind Lord's slight distress, continuing on. "One of them was upset that his cousin had joined up with a  _Fellowship_. Do you know what that Fellowship is doing?"

The Void walked right up to the Eagle, and smiled with sharp, white teeth. "They are on their way to retrieve the Black Weapons, the only things that can destroy me."

Gwaihir flinched. Amulug looked concerned and ready to jump in front of a blade for his lord. Provadok showed none of his thoughts.

"Do not be so surprised," Iãgaw told the Eagle chidingly. "I have  _always_  known about the Black Weapons. I have  _always_  known that they can kill me. But if they are somehow buried beneath a thousand tons of rubble, no one would be wielding them any time soon, would they?" The Void sneered, baring his teeth in a cruel grin. "The Valar should have been less specific with their plan to  _save Arda_."

He laughed mockingly, and the air grew heavier. Riagán gave a small pained gasp as the Darkness seemed to flux around him, hooking deep into his soul and pulling  _hard_. It faded so quickly he did not know if it truly existed, but the sheer force of the pull was enough to send him and Amulug to their knees. Provadok alone seemed unaffected. Iãgaw ignored them all, eyes only for the shaking Wind Lord.

"I tried to look for the Fellowship this morning, but someone is blocking me. Irritating, it's true, but I know the path they are taking and you insects are so  _slow_. But I am not concerned with them for now. I do not care that they are searching for the Weapons. I could send Amulug and Riagán to kill them if I wanted."

He frowned, considering that, then shrugged. "Perhaps I will. Perhaps not. I do not care, as long as I get what I need in order to ensure my victory. Which will be easy enough when I destroy the Weapons. You see, I know the Black Weapons exist. I know their purpose. I know they are in a temple, guarded by those annoying Blue Istari. The only information I need is the temple's location... And the Fellowship will lead me  _right_  to it."

In the end, it did not take pain to break the Eagle. Riagán could see the hope leave the once proud Lord's eyes, his entire visage seeming to shrink so he was only a shadow of his former self. Despair, pure and potent, dulled his eyes to blank orbs, and Riagán realized why Iãgaw wanted to revel in the destruction of Middle-earth. It was the same reason he wanted to see that potent,  _wonderful_  despair in Strider's eyes before he killed him.

"You may kill him now, Amulug." Iãgaw stated calmly, eyes bright with satisfaction.

The Shadowed Elf smiled and lunged, sword sweeping sideways in an almost gentle arc, and Gwaihir, Lord of the Eagles, was dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Provadok*: (Black Speech) Touch of Death. *not an exact translation. Was slightly shortened.
> 
> Tithen: little
> 
> Gwador: brother (sworn)
> 
> Delorcion: Bastard (more modern meaning, like "You jerk")


	3. In an Instant

_Third Age 2533. (478 years ago...):_

Surrounded by the stone and darkness of Dol Guldur, Legolas slept peacefully with eyes open wide, breathing even and soft. The elfling was curled on one side, facing the wall, head mere inches from striking the stone beside him. He remained still and unaware as a shadow crept into the room, darkness blending with darkness as the figure silently approached the slumbering child. Its steps were silent and swift as it loomed over Legolas, no hesitation in its posture as it gripped a long dagger in its hand.

The orc was five feet from the elfling when Legolas's eyes focused. The five year-old sat up and spun in a single, fluid motion, a small dagger flying from his hand to sink into the orc's throat. The orc choked, stumbling backwards with black blood gushing from its neck, barely visible as it splattered on the floor like thick ink.

Legolas swiftly threw another knife, this one finding its mark. The orc was dead before it hit the floor, yellow eyes staring blankly at the elfling. Legolas stared at it for a moment before rising and walking out of the room. He did not retrieve his weapons.

Ciaran stood outside the door, eyes closed as he leaned against the wall. Hazel eyes opened and looked down at the elfling, and the assassin spoke in a flat tone.

"Well done sensing your attacker while asleep. Your knife-throwing still needs work, however. That first shot should have killed the orc. Still, you have improved."

"Thank you, Ciaran." Legolas said softly, perking up slightly at the praise.

Then his violet eyes glanced back into the room, and the five year-old sniffled. Instantly, Ciaran went down on his knees, arms wrapping around the elfling securely as he burst into tears. Legolas sobbed quietly, tiny hands gripping the man's tunic, and the assassin's own hands clenched as the elfling trembled in his grasp.

"T-There's blood e-everywhere!" the assassin-in-training whimpered. "I-It was an orc but it w-was still staggering around and in pain c-cause I missed."

Ciaran made wordless soothing sounds as he rocked Legolas back and forth, rubbing his back in small circles. "I am sorry, Prince. I wish that I did not have to test you in this way, but for now I must train you as the Witch-King orders. You are correct, it was just an orc. Orcs are vile monsters that live only to destroy and kill, but they are still technically living creatures. Taking the life of a creature is never easy, but for orcs, you need to remember that they do not have souls. They barely count as sentient beings. Orcs are creatures of Darkness, and like all creatures of evil, they cannot be redeemed or saved. Even the orcs that were once elves fall under this category. They can only be slain with the hope that any good that is within them will find peace in the afterlife. Do you understand?"

The elfling sniffled and nodded. "So it will be easier for me to kill someday?"

Ciaran hesitated before speaking. "Yes and no. Physically, it will be easier for you to slay opponents as time goes on, but the mental strain and guilt may still linger. If that guilt does not exist for any of the Free People you may have to kill, then I know I will have failed you in the worst way possible." Hazel eyes darkened and hands clenched. "I myself almost lost my soul to apathy, but you managed to pull me out of that abyss before it could fully take hold. Feeling nothing when killing sentients can make you as evil as the enemy we fight. However, you need not feel guilt for killing creatures of Darkness. They are evil, and only seek death and destruction. They do not contribute to the world, only harm it. Dispatching of them should not weigh upon your soul. Just kill them cleanly, without malice, and know that by doing so you are saving lives."

Legolas relaxed in the man's hold, his nod causing his head to bump against Ciaran's chest. The elfling wrinkled his nose, rubbing the spot in annoyance, then looked up at his mentor with still-innocent violet eyes.

"Yes, Ciaran. Can you teach me how to throw knives better now?"

The assassin smiled sadly at the five year-old. "Of course, Prince. First, retrieve your weapons from the orc and clean them. Then we will begin your lesson."

The elfling nodded and pulled the knives from the orc's throat without a flinch.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

_The Present:_

The trees of Mirkwood had long since vanished from behind them as the Fellowship finally stopped for the night. It had been a unanimous decision among the more knowledgeable members that it would be unwise to go through Dale the next day as they headed East. In fact, Erestor, Gandalf, and Aragorn had concluded that the Company should avoid civilization as much as possible. The less who knew about the odd group of fifteen heading to Rhun, the better. The hobbits who had family in Dale had been harder to convince than the others, but eventually even they had agreed. As the Fellowship stopped in their potential campsite, Aragorn turned to Legolas and Elrohir. The man had not even opened his mouth when the dark-haired elf spoke.

"I sense no sentient presences other than us nearby. Certainly no orcs nor Shadowed Elves."

The younger twin turned to the hooded assassin questioningly and Legolas promptly gave his own response. "I do not sense any enemies as well. However, if you would like me to scout the area...?"

He left the question hanging, noting the lessened tension in the Ranger's shoulders. "Yes. Thank you, Esgal. Elrohir, you should search the area as well. Kili, Fili, Eomer, and Boromir can hunt while the rest of us set up camp."

There was no hesitance or room for argument in the Ranger's tone. Even though he was not truly the leader of the group, he had taken up an unofficial second in command position. Acting as if he truly was the commander of their little group without a single uncertainty saying otherwise may be the only way to stop the more stubborn members from trying to do things on their own, thus creating tension and chaos. Now to see if those who did not know Aragorn would follow his orders...

"Of course." Eomer said easily, already heading into the woods with the others at his side.

Surprisingly, not even Fili and Kili had commented on their role for tonight. Legolas was unsure whether it was because they respected Aragorn or they were used to hunting for a group. The assassin hoped that there would continue to be a lack of bruised prides as the journey went on.

Satisfied that there would be no conflict— yet— Legolas nodded once to Aragorn and slipped away. The trees around him were mostly unfamiliar, but they softly welcomed the elf to their boughs. Ever since leaving the Palace in Mirkwood, the violet-eyed elf had had his hood up and face-mask on, Ciaran's training whispering through his mind. He was outside the Sanctuary now, and everything could be considered enemy territory, so the assassin would act accordingly. Silent and stealthy he raced through the treetops, eyes flitting over all he could see and senses on high alert.

A sixth sense did not always bring the security one wanted when they could see for themselves what was around them. Legolas did not want to take any chances. If there was anything around that wished the Fellowship harm, he needed to know before they got close enough to strike. Especially since so many people he cared about were in the little group that had the fate of the world on their shoulders.

_How long will we remain undetected?_  The assassin wondered.  _All Iãgaw has to do is spot us and send an army through the shadows... No. Gandalf claims that we are hidden from the Void's sight. Hopefully that is true, otherwise Iãgaw could be watching our every move._

Legolas stared down at the deep shadow beneath the tree he stood on, eyes narrowing. _Yet Elrohir claimed he sensed the Void when it transported the Nazgûl to Rivendell. The description he had of the demon's aura... We would easily be able to sense such a vile presence. But will we be quick enough to run or fight whatever comes from those shadows?_

The Shadow may have always been his enemy, but he was used to the shadows themselves being his allies. There was nothing to fear from shadows and darkness if one was the most deadly thing within them. The thought that any shadow could be hijacked by Iãgaw and used against the Fellowship was unsettling.

_Which is why it is good that our mission is not known to the demon. I just hope the Void remains ignorant. If he discovers us and chooses to attack... without the Weapons, we will not stand a chance._

With a sigh, Legolas pushed his troubling thoughts away and continued his silent patrol, worried grimace hidden by his mask.

An hour later, the assassin returned to the clearing he had left his fellows in, finding it transformed. Blankets were strewn about beneath the canopy of trees, and a pile of wood accompanied the fire that crackled cheerfully in the center of the camp. The smell of cooking meat wafted through the air to meet Legolas's nose. Elrohir— who was seated beside his brother— saw the violet-eyed elf first.

"Esgal. Come and join us!"

The assassin walked out into the camp, meeting Aragorn's intense gaze. "There is nothing to report, Estel." He said calmly. When he got closer to the Ranger he added in an undertone. "...so you can stop trying to burn holes into my skull with your eyes."

The man's gaze softened at his words, the concerned intensity draining from his silver orbs. "I apologize." he said, equally soft. He paused, then spoke in the same volume as his friend. The elves and Gandalf would hear his words, but the others would remain ignorant. "I know that it is our first day of travel outside Mirkwood, but I feel as if orcs could leap from the shadows and attack us at any moment."

"I share your concern," the assassin revealed, "but we cannot watch every shadow and worry about things that may come out of it, if they ever do. Caution is healthy, but constant paranoia will not help anyone. Try not to obsess over what may or may not happen too much."

The Ranger blinked and sighed before grinning wryly. "All right. I will heed your advice. I'm guessing that you have been thinking about this as well?"

"Of course." Legolas murmured, glancing around them at the other Fellowship members. They were spread around the campground, with only Erestor and Gandalf lingering towards the edge of the group. Even the men were near the fire, though Eomer still looked uncertain as he glanced sidelong at the twins. "I just hope that the others have not." His gaze lingered on the hobbits and men. "Fear can tear a group apart as easily as a blade."

"Esgal! Are you done gossiping with Estel or am I going to have to eat your food?" Gimli interrupted suddenly, eyebrows quirking upward in a challenge.

Legolas rolled his eyes, smirking as he sauntered over to the dwarf, taking the plate from his hands. "I'll eat this, thank you. Are you certain you are not trying to outweigh Bombur?"

Gimli huffed, and the two launched into a playful argument, the tension in the air lightening considerably as the rest of the Fellowship joined in.

But Legolas could not help but worry about how long it would be before the inevitable conflict rose.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Awakening was quick to come to Legolas, the series of events marking his snap from sleep to awareness happening so quickly it took less than a heartbeat. First, he was aware of someone leaning over him. Second, he identified it as Sam. Third, the hobbit was distressed, as was a few of the other presences around him. They were many of the other members of the Fellowship— all allies, not a threat— but something was wrong. He could sense no other presences, but that did not mean a threat was nonexistent—

The presence— Sam, not a threat— was reaching for him.

These realizations raced through the assassin's mind and he opened his eyes, sitting up and twisting out of the startled hobbit's reach. He did not attack or unsheathe his weapons, but even as his violet eyes met Sam's he was ready to fight, muscles tense beneath his tunic. The elves, dwarves, Aragorn, Frodo, and Gandalf were still asleep, but the men and other hobbits were all awake and lingering around him. More than one person flinched, surprised by Legolas's unexpected movement.

"Oh!" Sam gasped softly, falling backwards in the dirt. "Oh— I'm sorry for waking you, Mister Esgal."

"It is all right, Sam." the assassin quickly told the nervous hobbit. "What is wrong? I sensed your distress."

"I— er." the gardener stammered. "I just... Are  _you_  all right?"

Legolas blinked. "Yes. Why wouldn't I be?"

Sam shifted, uncomfortable. "You were sleeping with your eyes closed."

The assassin's brow furrowed in confusion before he glanced at the sleeping elves. Elrohir's glazed silver eyes looked unseeingly at him. Legolas could have slapped himself.

"Sam, thank you for your concern but I'm all right. I always sleep with my eyes closed. I'm not injured—"

"An elf sleeping with their eyes closed means they're injured?!" Pippin yelled, effectively waking up the rest of the Fellowship.

It was almost funny to see the group leap into battle-ready stances, pulling weapons from their sheathes in near-synchronization while some blearily tried to blink the sleep from their eyes. Feelings of alarm, confusion, and annoyance momentarily swamped Legolas and he twitched, wincing slightly.

"Whass goin' on?" Kili mumbled sleepily, bow gripped loosely in his hand.

"A misunderstanding." Legolas sighed, rubbing his forehead. "I slept with my eyes closed and frightened the hobbits. Go back to—" He paused, thick ice water trickling over his skin. "Elrohir—"

"I sense them too." the younger twin said hastily. "Fifty— No. Sixty enemies are to the north of us, a quarter of a league away."

Any lingering sleepiness vanished.

"What are they? Are they heading this way?" Aragorn asked urgently.

"All orcs." the assassin replied for the twin. "They are not coming towards us yet but there is a canyon in their path. When they head into it they'll be coming towards us and may be close enough to catch our scent."  _Or at least the smell of our fire_ , Legolas thought,  _I should have known better than to cook out here. But what else can we do? The dwarves and men cannot eat lembas the whole trip_.

"Boromir, Eomer, do you think we should intercept them?" the Ranger demanded rapidly.

The two men thought it over before the Captain of Gondor nodded. "It is either that or risk having them chase us for the next few days. Once they have our scent they will actively hunt us."

Aragorn nodded once. "Hobbits, Erestor, Gandalf, twins, stay here and disassemble the camp. Be ready to move out once we return. The rest of you, with me."

The Ranger's stern, serious face halted any protests the camp group may have had. The chosen warriors made their way into the forest, Legolas remaining on the ground for once as he ran beside Kili. He silently analyzed Aragorn's choice of who would remain, knowing the silver-eyed man wanted the hobbits and Erestor out of danger with enough protection with them in case something went wrong. Erestor was a great fighter, but he was the only one that knew the location of the Temple. They could not lose him.

_They cannot lose me either, but Estel believes in me enough to know I will survive this fight,_  the assassin thought, and felt a rush of warmth towards his friend for his faith in him.

"The canyon walls will make good vantage points." the violet-eyed elf told Kili, who looked at him attentively. "We should be able to pick off a large part of the enemy from there."

"Good idea." Aragorn approved. "Esgal, Kili, do just that. Make sure none of the orcs enter the forest. We will fight below."

Legolas's face-mask hid his concerned frown but he forced himself not to object. He wanted to be on the ground with his comrades, but knew he would be better utilized as an archer up above. Aragorn trusted in his abilities, now he needed to trust in the Fellowship's.

"This way, Kili." the assassin said, veering off to the left with the dwarf following right behind him.

Kili shot a single glance back at his brother before he was hidden by the trees, and bit his lip. Legolas knew the dwarf prince had the same fears as him.

_Trust in them_ , he reminded himself firmly as the two archers reached the top of the canyon.

One did not need to be an elf to be able to easily see the bottom of the canyon, large enough for thirty people to line up across it and still have room. If a river had carved the crevice in the earth it had dried up long ago, leaving a flat, empty expanse of land that stretched for approximately a quarter mile. Legolas could just see the orcs entering the comparatively thin crevice, metal feet echoing loudly in the silence of the night.

"What do you think they are doing out here?" Kili murmured, brown eyes focused on the incoming small army. "Do you think they are after us?"

"That is unlikely," Legolas whispered back. "If the Void was after the Fellowship, he would have sent his more competent forces. Or come himself. Perhaps Iãgaw has finally grown interested in Rhovanion."

"Wonderful." Kili muttered sarcastically, notching two arrows to his bow.

Legolas did the same, and the archers let the arrows fly. Four orcs went down, one letting out a warning scream before its life fled. Instantly the orcs lost their formation, some raising shields while others ducked for nonexistent cover. The rest of the Fellowship was just entering the orcs line of vision, and, predictably, most of the enemy forces rushed towards the incoming fighters like wargs spotting potential prey.

The assassin and brunette dwarf shot down a few of the front runners, but all too soon the two sides had converged, leaving the Fellowship fighting forty-two orcs. As he and Kili continued to pick off those far enough away from their allies to safely target, Legolas kept track of his friends, refusing to lose focus as they engaged the enemy.

Aragorn beheaded two orcs with a single swing, back-to-back with Boromir as the Captain stabbed through an orc's heart, the creature's armor as useless as butter against his sword. Gimli and Fili also fought as one, enemies falling like grass around them as they attacked in a storm of metal and stubborn dwarf rage. Legolas spotted an orc archer hanging back and shot it in the arm, forcing the arrow it had been aiming at Eomer to fly wildly to the right, sticking in the canyon wall. His next shot went through the archer's skull, taking out the long-range threat.

The violet-eyed elf kept firing, noting where his arrows landed in order to pick them up later, but even as the battle raged on his thoughts unintentionally drifted in worried circles. Why were the orcs here? Were they sent after the Fellowship intentionally? They were so disorganized. Was this a distraction?

Legolas saw yet another orc entering Boromir's range of attack and ignored it, trusting the man to dispatch of the enemy. His calm, detached outlook on the battle instantly shattered when the orc did not fall from a stab through the chest, its axe lifting only to swing down at the Captain. Legolas did not see where the axe struck, only seeing the  _red-red-red_  as the man stumbled, crumpling to the ground with his sword falling from his hand.

In an instant the Fellowship's rhythm cracked. Aragorn gave a startled gasp, shifting desperately as he tried to defend his fallen comrade. Instead he was pushed away, the orcs momentarily ignoring the fallen man in favor of the Ranger. Eomer tried to reach him, alarm visible in his expression, only to be blocked by the enemy. Suddenly Fili and Gimli were on the defensive, struggling to hold the enemy back. And Boromir was still on the ground, shield laying over him, Legolas unable to tell what red was his cloak and what was his blood.

Blood so red like Ciaran's had been, dripping to the ground as his life trickled away.

Boromir was not moving.

He was  _not moving_.

Legolas's panic turned into emotionless ice.

The assassin leapt from the top of the canyon, barely hearing Kili as the dwarf prince called out to him. His bow was sheathed, his daggers drawn, and he landed on the orc closest to Boromir, both blades sinking deep into his enemy's head. He twisted and struck like a viper, daggers in place of fangs, everything entering an odd haze except the enemy and the mantra in his head.

_Kill. Survive. Protect. Kill. Survive. Protect._

They had killed so many orcs but more seemed to keep coming. Had a second group followed the first? Why had he not sensed them?

Why had he failed?

He heard Boromir shift slightly, letting out a moan, and if possible he fought more fiercely, slicing three orc's throats with a single harsh swipe. Other presences were still fighting— Allies. They were allies— but he could no longer identify who was who. There were only the orcs and Boromir, the two parts of his mission. Many to destroy, one to protect.

And then the wave of enemies stopped.

Legolas was still, knives raised, senses alert. Dozens of corpses littered the ground around him, his blades dripping blood as black as shadows. Someone was speaking, walking towards him, but the assassin raised his blades, causing the presence to halt abruptly.

The presence spoke again, but Legolas could not decipher the words.

Presence? Not just a presence. An ally. The ally was... Aragorn?

Legolas blinked and gasped, feeling as if he had just surfaced from under cold water. The world around him came into focus, and he saw his allies— friends— staring at him from a safe distance. A distance far out of reach from the assassin's deadly blades.

"His eyes..." he heard Fili whisper, and the elf instinctively cleaned off a dagger, looking at his reflection.

His eyes were dark purple, rapidly lightening as he watched. It did not take a genius to know they had been black. Legolas looked away from his image, kneeling beside Boromir. He heard someone gasp and shift as if to stop him, but did not have the courage to check to see who it was. The Captain's eyes were open, his breath hitching slightly, and the assassin was quick to spot the gash on his chest. It was not deep, but was enough to keep the warrior from regaining his footing to fight.

Not looking at the man's face, Legolas reached inside his cloak to retrieve some bandages, carefully wrapping the wound as best he could. He stood up, face hidden beneath his hood.

"We should get him to Elrohir." he said softly, voice carefully neutral.

Aragorn was first to approach, Eomer following, but before Legolas could retreat further, Boromir grabbed his arm.

"Thank you." the man said softly, and the elf was stunned by the genuine gratefulness and lack of nervousness in his eyes.

He managed to nod, and continued his not-so-subtle retreat as Eomer and Aragorn helped the red-cloaked man to his feet. The small distance, however, did not stop him from seeing the look in the man of Rohan's eyes.

Legolas turned away and followed Gimli as the dwarf led them back to the camp, heart twisting in a way he thought it never would again. Even after all that had happened and finding his father, the old doubts remained.

He knew exactly what Eomer was feeling when he looked at the elf now.

It was fear.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Amulug was content as he walked through the dark halls of Minas Morgul behind his Lord, gazing at the Void with shining eyes like an adoring child watched their parent. Iãgaw was deep in thought, conversing silently with one of his minions as he drifted through the Witch-King's old home. It was odd to see the demon so quiet and thoughtful, the Shadowed Elf used to seeing him destroying and manipulating. Still, even a creature of evil and chaos had his calmer moments. Going out and torturing things all the time would make such actions lose their allure.

And Iãgaw would hate to be bored.

"A group of my orcs managed to discover the Fellowship's general location and direction in which they are headed." the Void told his wide-eyed follower, enjoying how the corrupted elf hung on his every word like they were law. "Among their group are three dwarves, three men, and an elf at least... There are most likely others they did not encounter..."

Iãgaw looked up at the ceiling, idly clasping his hands together. "The Ranger that Riagán is so interested in, Aragorn, is a part of the group as well..."

Amulug's head snapped to the side as he stared intently at Iãgaw. If possible, he was even more attentive than before. "Elrond's adopted son is there?" he asked, voice losing its devoted edge.

Iãgaw glanced at his servant, a curious expression forming on his face. "Why yes, he is. Once the 'Fellowship' passes the Lonely Mountain, I am going to send Riagán to capture—"

"Send me." the Shadowed Elf said, eyes flickering.

Iãgaw slowly turned, crimson eyes blazing. "Excuse me?" he asked silkily, voice not hinting at any rage he might be feeling due to his follower's impudence.

"Send  _me_ , My Lord." Amulug repeated firmly. "I will capture the Fellowship and kill the Ranger."

The demon's head tilted slightly, curiosity overcoming his anger. "I said nothing specific about the Ranger. All I care about is discovering the location of the Black Weapons. I doubt Lorien told a mere mortal of its location, so I need you to focus on the elves and Istar." His eyelids lowered slightly, irises gleaming eerily from beneath them. "You may kill Aragorn only after you are certain he holds no information that I require."

"Of course, My Lord." the Shadowed Elf stated. Deep in his mind satisfaction sparked to life.  _As long as I have my vengeance, I will be content._

Iãgaw scanned his subject's mind, picking up on the stray thought. Rather than be angry, he chuckled. "Intriguing. Even with my power, you managed to keep your desire for revenge. Though I suppose Darkness comes in more forms than one... Yes, you may pursue the Fellowship. And do not be concerned..." His smile grew. "... I'll make sure not to tell Riagán of your mission."


	4. Monster

The Fellowship covered ground quickly, keeping a steady pace beneath the midday sun as they traversed over the border to Rhun. None but the elves, Gandalf, and Aragorn noticed their passage into the new realm, the others remaining ignorant to the change through a general lack of geographical knowledge of the area or obliviousness. Though, Legolas had to admit, it was hardly the others' faults that they were so preoccupied. There was an unmistakable new sense of urgency in the steps of the fifteen travelers, and it was rare to look at the group and not see at least one person turned towards the rear.

The younger hobbits in particular had been deeply unsettled by the enemy's presence last night. Although they chatted amiably enough to each other, Merry, Pippin, and Sam kept their voices low and viewed the dark stones around them with wary eyes. Legolas occasionally felt those eyes flicking in his direction, but he knew the hobbits were not observing him. Boromir's injury had disturbed the halflings more than news of orcs ever could and they glanced nervously at the man of Gondor as if he would collapse at any moment.

A bit pale but otherwise mostly healed thanks to the prowess of Aragorn and Elrohir, Boromir had kept at Legolas's side ever since they left camp that morning, confusing the elf greatly. The man would rarely speak, asking a question or commenting on unimportant things from time to time, but seemed content just to walk beside the assassin. Legolas did not know the Captain of Gondor's intentions, nor if he even had an ulterior motive. However, if Boromir was walking within arm's reach of the assassin, just to show he trusted the violet-eyed elf... Well, then his companionship was greatly appreciated.

But even with the recently injured man beside him, Legolas could not deny that all of the gazes were directed at Boromir. He did not need to be a sensor to know that other eyes watching him held fear.

"...you certain that he can be trusted?"

Remaining outwardly composed, Legolas attempted to focus firmly on the happy voices of the hobbits, and not that of the man at the back of the group. Normally for an elf, a companion avoiding them for a day would not be a cause of concern, but in a small traveling group where members bumped into each other at random times, when one was consciously avoiding another person it was painfully obvious.

Especially when that member was Eomer. Years of practice from having a blank mask for political gatherings could not stop Legolas from seeing the thoughts the man of Rohan was hiding behind those wary eyes. The man had seen the elf kill the Witch-King, had seen the act as a great enough feat to mention it to Boromir, but all of that trust and respect had vanished when he had seen the dangerous assassin within. Now those eyes that had once held warmth and appreciation only held wariness and terror.

To his credit, the one at whom Eomer had directed the question did not react with the anger one might expect. "I have known Esgal for years, and trust him with both my life and the fate of Middle-earth." Aragorn said calmly in response to the other man's harsh query. Only the slight twitch in the Ranger's hand and aura told Legolas how upset the silver-eyed man was about Eomer's question.

"But you saw what he did." the blond-haired man insisted. "His eyes were black. The reports claimed that only  _Shadowed Elves'_  eyes are that color, the color of a starless night!"

"Shadowed Elf eyes are  _completely_  black, like a bug's." Aragorn replied firmly. "Even so, it is impossible for Esgal to be a Shadowed Elf. The Shadow cannot touch him at all."

"Then what was that Darkness? That  _bloodlust_?" Eomer demanded skeptically.

A single dark eyebrow inched downward as silver eyes narrowed the slightest bit. "Esgal's actions were not fueled by Darkness or bloodlust. If anything, he acted like a soldier might in battle, keeping emotions at bay and protecting his fallen comrade."

The man of Rohan scoffed, eyes flashing. "To me it seemed more like he was an  _assassin_  killing all within reach."

Aragorn's lips pressed together but he held in the indignant outburst that was threatening to leap off his tongue. Legolas took a moment to admire how diplomatic— and dare he say, kingly— his friend was acting. Gimli would not take insults to his elven friend nearly so well.

"Esgal is a friend and a trusted member of this Company. Do not let preconceptions and paranoia cloud your view of him."

Silver eyes met Legolas's and the elf turned away, realizing that he had been staring. The old doubts tried to inch their way into his sub consciousness, but failed because of the more pressing problem on the assassin's mind. Even with all of his worries about the Fellowship losing the dutiful bond that kept them united and willing to work together, he had never considered that the frays would start because of him.

_Though with my history, I should have known better than to think everyone would be happy with having a killer in the Fellowship,_  Legolas mused bitterly, thoughts drifting to the missing sister who most likely still hated him. Rather than let his mood drop further because of things he could not change, the elf let his thoughts drift to what he should do.  _I cannot let this mistrust fester. We could be in another deadly situation soon, and with Eomer busy watching me like I'm going to stab everyone in the back, someone could get hurt. I have to confront him. I need to explain to Eomer, make him see that I am not a threat... to the Free People, at least._

Legolas could practically hear Glorfindel urging him to follow this plan, telling him to show Eomer how foolish he was acting, and a wistful smile flickered across the assassin's face.  _I hope everything is all right back at the Sanctuary, Gwador. It has only been a few days, yet I feel as if we've already been gone far too long. We need to retrieve the Black Weapons as quickly as possible, which means we have to all be cooperating with each other._

Which brought him back to Eomer. The Fellowship had halted at the top of a rocky hill, too small to be a mountain but too large to simply be called a rock. Legolas could have started another playful bickering match with Gimli by commenting on the 'mountain's' size, but he had other things to do at the moment.

"I'll go get water from the stream we just passed." Eomer offered, acting as if the quiet conversation between himself and Aragorn had never happened.

The Ranger nodded in consent, and with one last sidelong glance at Legolas, the man of Rohan strode off. The elf waited a moment, watching the dwarves set up a fire ring, then caught his friend's gaze, eyes flicking in Eomer's direction. The dark-haired man's brow furrowed, eyebrows lowering, but his expression morphed into one of surprise when the assassin walked to the edge of the clearing. The assassin did not announce to the Fellowship that he was going, merely following Eomer through the crags and crannies to the stream.

The man was kneeling beside the cool water, filling each water skin to the brim and closing them tightly to trap the moisture inside. Legolas paused, extending his senses to scan the area around them. Finding nothing concerning, he did it once more, just to make sure. Once certain there were no enemies in the area, the elf lowered his hood and face mask, clearing his throat. Even amidst the stones his dappled cloak blended him, and Eomer still jumped to his feet, startled by the elf's sudden appearance.

"Er. Hello." the assassin began lamely.  _Well done, Legolas. You are the King of long-winded and eloquent ways of breaking up the tension_ , he thought sarcastically.

Needless to say, the man remained on guard, expression openly wary. His hand twitched as if he were resisting the instinct to unsheathe his sword. The elf had seen the particular way in which he moved before and did not need to be Galadriel to know the man's thoughts. Eomer had the look of someone who thought the assassin would kill him if he so much as blinked wrong, and was hoping that not grabbing his weapon would prolong his life.

_He's acting as if I am here to assassinate him_ , Legolas thought, dismay tempered by the tiniest hint of anger.

He kept it off his face with little effort, sitting on a protruding rock beside the stream with his legs beneath him. It was a facade of casualness, letting the other think he was less able to quickly attack when in reality he could strike to kill just as efficiently from this position if needed. But here it was  _not_  needed. He just wanted the man to relax. The man's posture did grow less rigid when the assassin sat down, but Eomer's attempt to casually lay his hand on his sword hilt fooled neither of them.

"What do you want?" Eomer asked tensely.

"To talk." Legolas said evenly, deciding that chopping down the bush would be more effective than beating around it. "I know that your opinion of me has changed after you saw what I did in the battle against the orcs. You no longer trust me and you think I am a danger to you and the Fellowship."

Eomer met his gaze steadily, not denying it.

The assassin took his silence as an opportunity to continue. "I am not your enemy, all right? I may have... techniques that you do not, but that does not make me evil."

A harsh, strained laugh burst free of the man, startling them both. Eomer's mouth moved wordlessly for a moment before he spoke. "Not evil?  _Not_  my enemy? Tell me, would you believe a Nazgûl if it came up to you and claimed it was not your enemy?"

The tiny trickle of anger became a stream, Legolas's fist clenching at the mention of the creatures that had held him captive for so long.

"You should have  _seen_  yourself." Eomer continued, sounding disturbed. "You did not fight like a warrior of the Free People. You  _murdered_  like a mindless assassin, slaughtering all who came near you. Your eyes were like the darkest abyss, holding no empathy for your foes nor concern for your 'friends'. How can you claim to be a creature of Light when you can empty yourself of emotions, of everything that makes the Free People  _people_? It terrifies me to think of what you've done to gain such  _demonic_  skills—"

" _Quiet._ "

It took every bit of Legolas's control not to lunge at the man. He could not attack in anger, could not  _move_  in anger, because when he was not thinking clearly someone— not him— would most definitely get hurt. The elf shook slightly but otherwise did not move, restraining from harming the man who had seen a dangerous part of him and judged him for it only through sheer force of will. He would not dishonor the Fellowship, his fathers, and himself by hurting a comrade. So Legolas did the only thing he could.

He let his anger out through words.

"Do you think that I  _asked_  to be trained like this?!" the assassin snarled, still sitting, arms across his chest. "Do you think I  _asked_  to be a killer? Why would  _anyone_  want to be trained to assassinate people when they were a child?! I didn't have a choice! If I wasn't captured, maybe I would have been a guard or a warrior or healer or even a farmer, but I never had the chance to decide! And yet for the last few  _decades_  I've had to contend with constant judging and disgust from people like  _you_  who see that I'm an assassin and think I'm cowardly, evil  _scum_  because of it! They do not care about  _why_  I am a killer!"

"They do not care that I'm on their side! They see what I can do and fear and shun me because I can slaughter the lot of them in minutes! They don't even know me but they hate me! Even knowing I'm supposedly destined to save the world, people still do not trust me once they see how  _efficient_  I am at murder! People act as if me using my skills is a terrible taboo when I only use them to defend myself and my comrades. I could use my skills to defend infants and they'd still mutter about how I'm 'evil'. But it doesn't matter here. It  _cannot_  matter. We are on a mission to save the world, and we need to all trust each other in order to succeed. So I don't need you spreading fear and lies about me behind my back when we all need to be united."

Legolas shot the man a violet glare, expression harsh and cold. "Think what you will, but I will  _never_  betray this Fellowship or the Light. I will  _never_  work for the Darkness that killed my mentor. So you can stop trying to get the other members to share in your paranoia. Stay as far away from me as possible if you're so uncomfortable! And just so you are aware..." Legolas bared his teeth at Eomer. "...the Nazgûl kept me prisoner for eighty years, and are responsible for the death of my father figure. If one walked up to me, I would  _kill it_."

The assassin rose and turned on his heel, storming off as he put up his hood. His heart pounded in indignation, his blood raging through his veins, but strangely enough Legolas felt... lighter, as if a great burden had been taken off his shoulders. However, with the relief came a tiny hint of guilt as the elf realized he had not only failed at reforming the trust between himself and Eomer, but had probably worsened the situation.

The assassin gave a heavy sigh as he returned to the hilltop. A single head shake in Aragorn's direction told the Ranger everything he needed to know. The silver-eyed man pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. Which just made Legolas feel worse.

"Esgal." Gandalf greeted the assassin, a smile on his face that did not match his sad, solemn blue eyes. "Anything to report out there?"

"No." The elf said, his worry hidden behind a mask of calm. "Nothing is out of the ordinary."

When Eomer returned he refused to look at Legolas, giving no sign that their conversation had even happened. Once he had handed out the water skins, the man settled beside Fili and Kili, who just happened to be on the opposite side of the hilltop than the violet-eyed elf. Hidden by his face-mask and hood, the assassin observed him and grimaced, closing his eyes in defeat.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Inside Minas Morgul, Provodak halted in his tracks, staring at the door that stood just a few feet away. Hazel eyes closed, his hooded head tilting slightly, before his right hand clenched, trembling. He had sensed the Light again. That wonderful, horrible, beautiful,  _sickening_  Light. Provodak had begun heading towards it, like he did every time it appeared, but the Light—  _the one he must kill_ — had disappeared,  _again_ , before he could exit the Witch-King's fortress. The Shade was not yet angered by the loss, although each time the Light came and went he felt the need to find—  _destroy_ — it become stronger.

It was worse than an itch that could not be scratched, like something wrong was writhing and churning inside him. But killing the Light would make the wrongness stop. Destroying it—  _him_ — would make all this— What was 'this'?— end. If only he could find the Light...

Provodak scowled behind his face-mask, fist clenching and fingers flexing. He briefly considered seeking out Riagán, who was not a Light but  _almost_  made the same  _need to kill_  rise, but dismissed the idea. Slitting the man's throat would not cause the wrongness to abate, and Iãgaw might be annoyed that his assassin had murdered one of his leaders.

"There you are."

Provodak turned to see the Void walking towards him, as if he had been summoned by his thoughts. The demon had his usual childish smile on his face, but his eyes studied the Shade with an eerie intensity that would have made most men cower. But Provodak was not a man—  _and even when he had been, he had never flinched in the face of Darkness._

"I have a little job for you, Provodak." Iãgaw began without preamble. "I have heard of your legend, but have yet to see it for myself."

He waited for the assassin to respond, but the Shade merely waited in silence for the Void to continue.

"I am sending you to a small village near Minas Tirith. There are ninety-eight people there. Men, women, children..." Crimson eyes gleamed, and he smiled like a shark. "Your orders are to kill them all. I do not care how."

Provodak did not even hesitate. "As you wish."

Iãgaw paused, head tilting. "You do not have any questions? No qualms? Have you no humanity?" The last question was asked mockingly, but Provodak felt the need to respond to it.

"I am the Touch of Death. I have no humanity. My purpose is to kill for my clients, nothing more."

"Fascinating." Iãgaw purred. "I wonder if my other Shades will also be so cold..." The chill that settled on Provodak's spine told the Shade that the demon was casting out his senses through Minas Morgul. A single dark eyebrow rose. "Hmm. It seems one has escaped... I wonder who she went to kill... No matter." He waved an arm, and the shadows churned and danced dizzyingly. "Go do your duty, Provodak. Make me  _proud_."

The assassin stepped into the rippling shadows, reappearing on top of a building beneath a cloudy sky.

Laughter and chatter reached his ears and he looked down, observing the bustle of the people around him that had yet to notice the cloaked man in their midst. There were twenty-four within his sight, but he could sense the remaining seventy-four in the village around him. He could also sense the shadows lurking throughout and around the town, watching and ready to stop any who tried to escape.

Provodak put an arrow to his bow, chose a target, and let the arrow fly.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

_Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap_.

Thranduil let his gaze drift over the report laying in front of him, trying his best to ignore the constant noise his eldest daughter was making. It had been thousands of years since Hannel was an elfling, yet the Elvenking was starkly reminded of the times when a very bored young Princess would be sitting in his office, trying to be a big elleth by helping Ada with his paperwork. Back then, the chair she had sat in was too tall for her wiggling feet to touch the ground, but now each time her foot hit the floor, a loud tapping noise could be heard.

_Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap._

The Elvenking was on the brink between being irritated by the sound and chuckling at his daughter's most un-Princess-like behavior. The normally dignified elleth had not even noticed what she was doing, though her husband and brother both had. Lachon was peering subtly at his wife, the corner of his mouth twitching occasionally, while Barhad would look up, sigh, and continue perusing the dry, dull document he was holding.

_Tap-tap-tap-tap._

As the tempo increased, annoyance finally won out, and Thranduil gave a pointed cough. Hannel stopped bouncing her foot, glancing at her father with a perplexed expression that made her look far younger than usual. In fact, it seemed like he had not seen such a look on her face since long before she had reached her majority. Subduing the feeling of bittersweet nostalgia, the Elvenking spoke plainly to his daughter.

"These floors have endured years of wear and booted feet,  _iellnin_. If you are trying to pound your way into the cellars, there are easier ways to accomplish it."

Hannel turned a light shade of pink, shifting in her chair like a scolded elfling. "I apologize, Adar. I'm just… having trouble focusing."

"You're worried about Megilag, Bereneth, Fael, and Legolas." Barhad murmured softly, not looking up from his scroll.

If not for his slightly tightened grip around the paper, Thranduil might have been fooled to believe his golden-haired son was contrastingly unconcerned about his siblings. The whiteness of his knuckles and trembling hands showed the falsity of the twin's façade, however.

"Aren't you?" the eldest Princess demanded, sounding tired rather than confrontational. "Legolas is on a quest somewhere in the Darklands, and Bereneth, Megilag, and Fael are who knows where on a useless journey. It was foolish to let those three head to Minas Morgul! Iãgaw has most likely using that forsaken place as his fortress, and they will run right into his home if that Eagle does not find him first. The worst part is we will not know anything about any of them for weeks, maybe even months!"

Her hands clenched, wrinkling the scroll that she held in them, but Thranduil did not have the heart to mention it to her.

"I'm worried about them all as well." The Elvenking said. "But we cannot spend the next few months worrying about them. This is a situation where no news is good, because the only way we will know if they succeeded is when they return home or we get word that they are..." The golden-haired elf trailed off, his attempt at lessening his family's concern only making them more subdued. He continued as smoothly as he could, almost ignoring what he had just said. "I know you are tired of hearing this by now, but there is nothing we can do but wait. We cannot magically transport our family home or look in a scrying pool to see where they are, no matter how much we wish we could."

"So we wait until something happens?" Hannel asked rather morosely.

"Indeed." Thranduil replied, even as every fiber of his being rebelled against such a thought.

They settled again into an uneasy silence, the sounds of papers moving and a quill scribbling being the only noise in the room. The Elvenking quickly found himself unnerved by the quiet, mind flashing back to the long wait for news when Legolas had been captured so long ago.

_This is not like that time_ , the blue-eyed elf told himself firmly.  _My children are all relatively safe, on missions with people who will rise to defend them. I cannot worry about them until they are home, or I'll collapse from the stress. And that would send Elrond into one of his long-winded lectures—_

The scream made Thranduil's arm jerk, a thick black line crossing most of the scroll he had been working on.

The Elvenking looked at Barhad in shock, unable to move as the Prince screamed again, hunching over as he fell from his chair. The thud of Barhad's body hitting the floor spurred Thranduil into action, the elf rushing over to his son as his mind sped through possible reasons for his obvious agony.

_Poison? He has not eaten or drank anything. Assassins? There's no place to hide and no vantage points? Something in the paper or quill? I see no dust and nothing has punctured his skin._

Thranduil crouched next to his son, Hannel on his other side, while Lachon stood defensively by them with his sword drawn. Two guards burst into the study, their own weapons glinting in the light, in time for Barhad to give another, quieter wail.

" _Hir nin_ , what is wrong with the Prince?" one asked urgently.

"I don't know!" Thranduil snapped at him. "Fetch Nestor or Elrond. My son is in  _pain_!"

Barhad's shaky, clammy hand reached up to grip his father's wrist, the scholarly elf breathing in raggedly before speaking in a hoarse voice. "I'm… fine.  _Not… me_ …"

The Elvenking blinked at his son in confusion before the color drained from his face. Beside him, Hannel gasped softly, hand clapping over her mouth as her eyes went wide. The twin's brown eyes focused on his father, a tear escaping the corner of his eye as he confirmed Thranduil's fear.

"Bereneth's… hurt. I feel her—" His breath hitched. "— pain. Something—" He flinched, bucking hard enough that his head nearly smacked against the stone floor. "Something's  _wrong_ …"

Barhad went silent, gaze unfocused as he stared at the ceiling without seeing it. He did not see his family's panicked glances, nor react when Elrond and another healer came and lifted him onto a stretcher. All Thranduil could watch his son in terror as he retreated into his mind, trying to reach his distant twin in some way, in any way, to know that she was all right.

The golden-haired King trailed behind the frantic procession as the healers rushed Barhad to the Hall of Healing, limbs seeming to fill with ice. Fear, dark and cold, gripped his heart and twisted it in a way he had not experienced in decades, even as a prayer repeated itself in his mind.

_Please let my children be all right. Please, I beg of you, do not make me lose someone again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Gwador: brother (sworn)
> 
> Hir nin: my lord
> 
> Iellnin: my daughter
> 
> A/N: Originally, Legolas and Eomer were going to get over their issues easily, (Pretty much it was just a short "Your fears are unfounded" and "I'm sorry" situation) but then I decided Legolas needed to let off a little steam. The fear and mistrust he's been facing for the past few decades (plus the underlying pressure of his future duty) finally got to him. Eomer just became the unwitting target of his tangent. And no, I'm not hating on the guy. I honestly just picked him because he's the one most likely to be prejudiced other than Boromir and everyone seems to pick on that poor man. In Eomer's defense, he is really freaking out about Legolas's "assassin mode".


	5. Fade to Black

If Bereneth did not know any better, she would swear that the sky was completely made up of clouds. The longer she, Fael, and Megilag traveled through Gondor, the closer they got to their goal, the darker and more gloomy the sky would become. The elves had not seen the sun in days, and quite frankly the elleth was getting tired of the permanent gray blanket above them. It never seemed to rain, only solidifying her belief that these clouds were useless, and most likely influenced by the Darkness that seemed to permeate the very air they breathed.

Fael and Megilag seemed less disturbed by the weather than she. They were a few yards ahead, trekking determinedly through the field with the Ash Mountains lurking intimidatingly far ahead. The youngest daughter of Thranduil had been avoiding her brothers as best she could ever since their battle with the Spiders. She did not want to talk about what had happened, and they did not press her, so her sudden, bloodthirsty outburst hung between them, souring the air and making it uneasily tense.

Bereneth found herself lingering further and further behind her siblings, remaining close enough to be able to reach them easily, but far enough away to let them know she still needed space. And time to think. The elleth absently scanned the horizon, face set into a scowl.

It was only because of her wandering eyes that Bereneth saw something running towards her at incredible speed. She opened her mouth to shout a warning to her brothers, but paused when she saw the runner's distinct glow.

_An elf?_

Warnings about Shadowed Elves whispering in the back of her mind, Bereneth halted and watched as the person came closer. She did not call out to Megilag and Fael. If it was a Shadowed Elf coming towards them, she could handle it. The Princess continued to watch the elf's steady approach, going over different attack strategies in her mind. She could not yet see if the runner was armed, though based on his or her pace the person was not going to stop suddenly and draw a bow.

The elf came within her sight, clear enough to be seen even under the looming clouds... and Bereneth's mind went blank. She recognized that hair color. She remembered that face. She knew that familiar, graceful, running gait. Memories of chasing a laughing silver-haired elleth through a garden overwhelmed Bereneth's senses, and when her vision cleared the elf was standing before her, smiling that familiar, gentle smile. The golden-haired elleth's mouth moved wordlessly before she forced the word that was choking her past her lips.

"N-Naneth?" Bereneth whispered.

Luineth smiled gently at her daughter, as radiant, graceful, and beautiful as Bereneth remembered. Her silver hair shone even in the darkness beneath the cloudy sky, and her silver-blue eyes were filled with joy. She was even wearing the light green dress that she had donned on that terrible day hundreds of years ago. The only difference from then and now was the sword she had at her hip.

"My little Bere." her mother murmured. "You're so radiant."

Bereneth's voice failed her and she stared mutely at Luineth.  _I'm dreaming_ , she thought rationally.  _I must have fallen asleep somehow._

Because this was impossible. Her mother could not be standing in front of her. She had died, almost five centuries ago. True, Legolas had turned out to be alive, but Bereneth had seen Luineth's body. They had a funeral, and mourned her. So how...?

Luineth approached cautiously, that beautiful smile still on her face. "I know I've been gone a long time, Iellnin. But I've been given a second chance. Now I get to see how beautiful you've grown."

A part of Bereneth wanted to point out that since elves did not age after reaching adulthood, she had not changed, but she understood her mother's sentimental words. Still, the feeling that something was not right kept the elleth wary, and she stepped just out of Luineth's reach. Hurt flickered across her mother's face, and the golden-haired elf felt the tiniest bit of guilt settle in her chest.

"You died." she said shakily. "How are you here? Why are you here? How did you find us?"

"I promise I'll answer your questions." Luineth claimed, own voice trembling with an emotion Bereneth could not identify. Her silver-blue eyes shone with tears as she looked imploringly at her daughter. "For now... Please, can't I just hold my little girl?"

Bereneth's reservations crumbled as her mother opened up her arms. No longer caring about whether this was reality or a dream, the elleth flung herself forward, holding her mother tightly. She was oddly cold, and the female warrior flinched as something seemed to ripple beneath Luineth's skin. The elleth's instincts screamed at her to break away, to ready herself for a fight, but she ignored them, clinging to her mother as the silver-haired elf rubbed gentle circles on her back before letting her hand drop.

"I love you, my little Bere." Luineth murmured.

"Nana..." Bereneth whispered brokenly, even as the feeling of  _wrongness_  finally made her jerk away...

The dagger that was meant for her heart instead plunged into her shoulder, bloody tip jutting out her back. Bereneth screamed, voice shattering the silence, and she heard an echo of her cry in her mind in a familiar male voice.

_Barhad!_

Her twin's distant pain spurred Bereneth into action and she grabbed Luineth's hand, forcing her to release the dagger. At the same time she kicked her mother as hard as she could in the stomach, stumbling even as the silver-haired elleth fell back. The former Queen of Mirkwood recovered quickly, sliding into a ready stance with a grace Bereneth would have envied in not for the situation.

The Princess gasped painfully, hand pressed around the dagger that was still in her shoulder. She was not a healer, but she knew that sometimes pulling the weapon out only made it worse if nothing had been done to stem the bleeding. Luckily, the wound was not gushing blood, only a small trickle dripping down her back. At the moment.

Even with the knowledge that doing so would only make it worse, Bereneth pulled her hand away from her shoulder, unsheathing her sword. Her arm trembled, the blood on her hand making it difficult to grip the hilt, but she managed it. Luineth stared at her in what seemed like genuine sadness.

"Bereneth," her mother said chidingly,  _morosely_ , voice tinged with disappointment. "You would draw your blade on your mother?"

"You... stabbed... me..." the elleth gasped, still not fully believing it.

Her shoulder pounded and stung but the emotional turmoil seemed far worse than her physical injury. If this was a dream, she surely would have woken by now. Which brought up a lot of questions the elleth was too shocked to think of right then.

"I brought you into this world, Bere." her mother said gently. "I have every right to take you from it."

"W-What?" Bereneth whispered, eyes widening.

"You heard me, young lady." Luineth said in the tone she used whenever Bereneth tried to get out of cleaning up her toys so long ago. "I have to do this, before you hurt your brothers. You were infected by the Darkness after all."

The former Queen of Mirkwood's words contrasted sharply with her calm tone, and Bereneth found she could barely comprehend what her mother was saying.

"How did... I'm not..." Bereneth protested weakly. "I'd never hurt them!"

"It isn't your fault, Bere." Luineth said softly. "You aren't the only one who took in the Void's Darkness and lost it, leaving such an empty hole. I must extinguish your Light from this world now, or you will lose yourself completely."

The words she spoke should sound mad, should sound ridiculous, and yet...

Tears blurred the elleth's vision as she fell to the ground, sitting on her legs as she looked up at her mother. She should be fighting, or calling for help, but her mother's words matched and confirmed the fears that had been plaguing Bereneth for the past week.

"That can't be true..." she whispered.

Tears trickled down Luineth's cheeks. "It is, sweetie. I have to free you from this life, or I will never know peace."

Her hand rested on her sword hilt and Bereneth bowed her head, unable to argue with the Queen. She could not prove nor disprove Luineth's words, and that was what scared her the most. If her own  _mother_  said that she needed to die...

Footsteps pounded towards the two elleth's, and two gasps broke the sudden silence in the air. Bereneth looked up at her stunned, frozen brothers, the surprise and fear on their faces making her stomach twist uncomfortably.

"Nana?" Fael whimpered. "How—? Why—? What are you  _doing_?"

Their mother smiled, gentle, beautiful, and kind. "Killing you and your siblings, ionin."

Like a snake she struck, blade free of its sheath and swinging to kill. Megilag moved in front of Bereneth, blocking the blow, but his parry was clumsy and his green-tinged hazel eyes were wide. The golden-haired elleth was certain that the fear and confusion she saw in her older brother's gaze was reflected in her own eyes.

It was stupid, childish, and very naive, but Bereneth could not help but blurt out in confusion. "What are you doing? They haven't been touched by Darkness!"

Luineth remained calm and distant, ever the Elven Queen. "I know, but you all must die in order for me to have peace!"

It was easy to forget that their mother had warrior-training, not as extensive as her children's but enough to know her way with a blade. It seemed as though those skills had been enhanced as Luineth attacked Megilag with a strength and aggression the siblings had never before witnessed.

Each blow was made the silver-gold-haired Prince stumble back a step as if Luineth was hitting him with a troll's hammer instead of a sword. Eventually, he stopped blocking, trying a few weak-willed strikes that their mother easily blocked.

Megilag was far more skilled, but his emotions were in turmoil, and that was enough to handicap any warrior. The ellon was like a rookie faced with the captain of the guard, flinching and clumsily defending himself with desperate, uncoordinated movements. He unconsciously retreated backwards, stumbling over a loose stone.

With a flick of her wrist Luineth disarmed her son, sending his sword skittering across the ground far out of reach. All Megilag could do was dodge, flinching visibly as each thrust and stab barely missed. His mother watched him with a blank expression, neither elated or upset that she had her son at her mercy.

The intense, absolute focus in her silver-blue eyes terrified Bereneth, but no matter what she tried her muscles refused to obey her, refused to move so she could help her older brother. Her vision hazed, pain lancing up her arm, and she eventually gave up. Fael was still frozen, green eyes staring directly at his family but seemingly unable to comprehend what he was witnessing.

"To answer your questions, Bereneth, I was summoned by Master Iãgaw. I was in Minas Morgul, so it was easy to sense your Lights and track them here." Luineth said pleasantly as she slashed at her son. Her head tipped slightly. "Why are you out here, my children? Did you come just for me?" She sounded so normal, familiar, and  _wrong_.

"We came for Legolas." Bereneth whispered, though she did not know why.

Luineth laughed, anticipated Megilag's next dodge, and knocked him down, bringing her sword to his throat. "Silly children." Luineth teased, just like she would when her elflings had done something foolish. "Legolas is not in Minas Morgul. He never was."

Bereneth felt a chill settle over her that had nothing to do with her wound. She gave her mother her full attention, shaking slightly as she once again struggled to rise.

"I actually do not know where he is." Luineth continued thoughtfully without prompting. "I can't sense Little Leaf's Light no matter how hard I try, but I know the Shade that is hunting him. I met him in Minas Morgul, the one who raised my little elfling to be an assassin, apparently. I should hate him for that. Or maybe thank him."

Their mother frowned, unable to decide on her feelings, then shrugged, looking down at her older son. "What matters is that he will extinguish Legolas's Light. That means that I just have to kill you and your siblings and father, and I too will be free of this world once more. Please understand, my children. I need this."

Luineth's sword moved backwards the slightest bit, ready to end her son's life.

Fael's blade burst from her chest, the sword entering her lower back and stabbing through her heart. Their mother looked down at the bloodless sword in surprise, her arm going limp and her own blade falling from her fingers. It barely missed Megilag's head. She blinked slowly, silver-blue eyes moving over each of them. For just a moment, they softened.

"My... children..."

Luineth slumped, skin darkening and crumbling away like coal in an earthquake until nothing remained but her sword. The three siblings stared in stunned silence at the pile of ash that had once been their mother. Then Fael's legs trembled, and he collapsed with a strangled cry.

" _I killed Naneth!_ " he screamed. "Valar, no,  _I killed her!_ "

The younger Prince began to wail, rocking back and forth with his hands clasped over his head, slowly gripping his hair and dragging his hands down his cheeks. His sword clattered to the ground at his side, sullied only by the dirt. Bereneth kept glancing at the blade, half-expecting crimson blood to suddenly appear on the shiny metal. It remained eerily clean. As Fael continued to shriek and sob, Megilag stumbled to his feet, going to his brother and kneeling beside him.

"That was not her." The oldest sibling told Fael, holding him tightly as he thrashed and screamed. " _It wasn't her_ , Fael! Our mother died long ago. That— That thing was just something that had her face. It wasn't her. Even if that was our mother's spirit, somehow brought back from the dead, she wasn't herself. That was a corrupted image of our mother, a... a  _Shade_  of who she used to be. She would  _never_  harm us!"

Fael shook his head rapidly, unable to accept his words. So distracted by her brother's pain was she, Bereneth almost forgot about her own injury until fire ripped through her shoulder. The elleth gave a small grunt, pressing her hand tightly over her wound as she curled up on the ground. Megilag was at her side in an instant, expression tight with concern.

"You need a Healer." Her older brother murmured urgently, biting his lip as he queasily looked at the dagger that was still in her shoulder.

His words seemed to momentarily knock Fael out of his hysteria, her younger brother bolting over to her in a panic. His hands trembled as he removed bandages from his pack, wrapping them around her shoulder and the knife.

"We have to keep it in for now or you could bleed out." he said shakily. "I— I cannot fix this. Megilag?"

"This is beyond my experience." the older Prince said grimly, but Bereneth could see the fear in his eyes.

It was then that Bereneth realized how grave her situation truly was. They were in the middle of nowhere, with no towns for leagues, and she could already feel the held-off pain and dizziness trying to take her. The Princess breathed slowly, focusing on Fael's face, in an attempt to stave off the shock. It was only because of that that she saw the shadowy figure flying just above the clouds behind his left ear.

_A fell beast?_  Bereneth thought, panic gripping her.  _We cannot fight a Nazgûl now!_

Her gasp made her brothers turn, Fael snatching his sword off the ground. However, they were quick to realize that the flying creature was not one of Darkness, however. The shape and flight patterns were wrong. In fact, the creature looked more like...

An Eagle emerged majestically from the clouds, brown feathers rippling in the wind as it soared down towards the three elves. It landed lightly, fluffing its plumage slightly... before hopping from foot to foot in an odd little dance in front of them.

"I found you!" the Eagle said happily, its young voice startling the elves. "I've been looking for ages" He paused, head tilting. "Oh, right. My name is Thiad! Elvenking Thranduil sent me to bring you back to Mirkwood."

If not for her current predicament, Bereneth may have found the proud, excited tone in which he told them of his mission to be funny. Megilag's hand clenched around Bereneth's arm, causing her to wince. He let go immediately, apologizing before turning to the Eagle.

"Has something happened?" he asked urgently.

Thiad shuffled his wings, shaking his large head. "Well, nothing  _bad_  happened before I left, but things have happened that I cannot talk about here." He glanced at the shadows caused by the clouds, eyes narrowing. "But I can tell you that you have to go home now. Or really soon, at least. The one you are seeking—"

"—Isn't in Minas Morgul, we know." Megilag informed him. "We... We just found that out."

Bereneth looked away from her brothers, while Fael almost went into hysterics again. Luckily, he kept control of his emotions, settling for merely burying his face in his hands. Thiad gave the silver-haired Prince an odd look but dismissed his behavior.

A sense of absolute failure settled over the golden-haired elleth as she recalled what her mother had claimed. If what she said was true, then the past few months had been for nothing. The three Royals had been out in the world, on a quest, endangering the Sancutary for  _nothing_. Normally, Bereneth would deny what Luineth had said, and want to continue on their journey... but an Eagle sent by their father had come, confirming that Legolas was indeed not in Minas Morgul.

But how would Thranduil know that? He would not call off their search unless he was absolutely sure that his youngest child was not within that cursed place. Which meant the Elvenking  _knew_  where Legolas was... How could he be  _certain_?

Randomly, one of Luineth's statements rose to the forefront of Bereneth's mind.

" _...I can't sense Little Leaf's Light no matter how hard I try, but I know the Shade that is hunting him. I met him in Minas Morgul, the one who raised my little elfling to be an assassin..."_

Bereneth's stomach lurched. It could not be true. It could not be.

And yet pieces were putting themselves together in her mind, ruthlessly pointing out every clue she missed and every cruel, cold interaction she had with...  _him_. How he had been raised by an assassin. How his Light was hidden, and not even Galadriel herself could see or sense him. How he was young enough for other elves to look down upon him because of his age, and because he had been raised in a place of Darkness...

It was so obvious now.

_I'm such a fool_ , Bereneth thought, salt-water leaking from her eyes once more.

Her brothers mistook her tears of grief for ones of pain. Had they not realized what she had?

"Bereneth has been injured badly. She needs a healer." Fael said urgently, helping her to her feet and keeping a firm grip on her arm to keep her upright. "Where is the closest town?"

"Minas Tirith is a dozen leagues to the south." Thiad chirped, plumage fluffed fretfully. "I can carry all three of you there. But..." The Eagle paused before continuing reluctantly. "The Steward will not be happy about elves coming to his city."

Bereneth was momentarily confused, but quickly realized why that may be the case. _The Shadowed Elves have been attacking villages in Gondor, haven't they?_

Megilag seemed to be thinking along the same lines as her, his brow creasing as he considered what to do. They could either go to Minas Tirith, which would have a healer skilled enough to help the elleth, but may result in them facing hostility from a very powerful and ill-tempered man. Or they could try one of the smaller towns, which may not have a healer who could help them, and still face that hostility. The silver-gold haired Prince hesitated, eyes resting on Bereneth as she leaned heavily against Fael, breathing hard. His expression hardened.

"Take us to Minas Tirith." Megilag said at last.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Prodovak stood in the middle of a silent village, looking at the bodies around him with detached eyes. More than a few pairs of unseeing eyes looked back at him, all holding fear even in death. Men, women, and children, all bloody and lifeless, lay sprawled carelessly throughout the streets. Provodak had counted, and not a single one had escaped the Touch of Death.

The first twenty-four had been killed without anyone realizing their neighbors had fallen. Even then, with the villagers starting to panic, they had been no match for the assassin. Any who tried to attack him were slain instantly, and those who tried to flee were blocked in by the wall of shadows surrounding the village.

Provodak had quickly become deaf to the increasingly repetitive pleas for mercy, for him to spare families and wives and children. These civilians were not a threat to him, and had fallen like grass to a scythe. If they had banded together and rushed the assassin, they may have stood a chance, but they were too foolish to think of such a thing—  _They were terrified. They never had to face a killer like him before. There was no one to protect them._

The sight of resulting carnage brought the assassin no amusement, not like it would Iãgaw. But it also did not disgust or horrify him like it would most men. If anything he felt... casual. He had done terrible things like this before, and had not felt an ounce of guilt—  _But he had never murdered children... right? He could not remember._

He had done his duty, and that was all that mattered—  _Why did he not care about what he had done? Why couldn't he care?_

After all, this was his purpose— _No it was not._

This was his job—  _He had killed innocents_.

This was right—  _wrong._

Provodak's head ached, his eyes stung, and he did not know why.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Legolas swayed backwards, the Easterling's blade carving through the air above him. Easily he straightened, dagger slashing the man's throat. He fell with a gurgle, and another Easterling came to take his place. A quick stab to the eye took care of him, and soon after his fellow was sent flying into the three Easterlings that were attempting to overwhelm the hobbits.

Sam, Pippin, and Merry looked scared but determined as they fought alongside Frodo, who dodged and parried his enemies' blades with an adeptness Legolas had once wished he would never need to utilize. Much like the orcs, the score of Easterlings had appeared out of nowhere, but the small band was hardly a threat to the fighters.

Gimli finished off the last one, removing his axe from his foe's chest with a grunt."First a pack of orcs, now some angry Easterlings." he grumbled. "Are we certain the Void isn't watching our every move and mocking us?"

Erestor shook his head, seemingly calm, but Legolas and the more observant members of the party could tell he was unsettled. "If Iãgaw knew exactly where we were, he would send his army out of the shadows around us, not just this small. However, I am uncertain whether we have actually avoided his attention, and have just been unlucky."

"None of us were injured this time. I'd call that lucky." Fili commented, nudging a fallen Easterling with his boot. "Still, we're in enemy territory, and I guess we should get used to the natives attacking us."

Legolas picked up an Easterling's sword, noting the various notches on the blade with disgust. "Not all Easterlings are evil. We just happened to run into a bad bunch."

He pointedly ignored it when Eomer glanced at him. Things had not gotten better between the elf and man over the past few days. Although, it had not gotten worse either, so Legolas could be thankful for that.

"Wait, we're in Rhun?" Pippin asked suddenly, voice tinged with surprise.

Merry scoffed at him. "You didn't notice?"

"No. Did you?"

The other hobbit hesitated, then looked away from his cousin. "...No."

Gimli chuckled, amused by the disgruntled expression on Merry's face. "Don't fret, lad. I did not realize we had gone into a new realm until Esgal told me."

"Is the Great and All-knowing Gimli admitting that I knew something you did not?" Legolas asked innocently.

"Of course I am, didn't you hear—" The dwarf paused, mouth opening and closing comically, before he scowled. "Now see here—"

Something shifted at the edge of Legolas's sixth sense. He held up a hand, noting Elrohir's mirrored wariness. The twin's hand was back on his sword hilt, his silver eyes scanning the woods surrounding them warily.

"Did you feel—"

"Yes." the assassin answered before he could finish.

He unsheathed his weapons, the other warriors quickly doing the same. The strange feeling continued to prod at him, refusing to identify itself.

"Esgal..." Aragorn's voice was terse, hand tight around his sword hilt.

"I don't know what it—"

Both Legolas and Elrohir gasped, flinching as a surge of Darkness curdled the air around them like the scent of decaying meat. The assassin had never felt such evil before, not even from the Darkness of the Witch-King and Dol Guldor, and he shuddered and froze, unable to move beneath the sheer weight and  _wrongness_  of it.

The shadows were rippling beneath the trees, churning and dancing in front of the Fellowship, who froze in terror as something began to emerge from their depths. And Legolas still could not move, paralyzed by the vile presence, even though he knew what could potentially be coming out of the darkness. It was almost a relief when a single pale-skinned elf appeared out of the mass of swirling shadows, bowstring already pulled back with an arrow ready to fly. Without an ounce of hesitation, the Shadowed Elf released the arrow...

...straight at Legolas.

The archer was too close, the assassin would not have time to fully dodge, but Legolas shifted his weight anyway, hoping to at least avoid a fatal blow—

Something slammed into Legolas's side, sending him crashing to the ground. His head bounced off the hard earth with a jarring thud, vision going blurry as everything seemed to merge and multiple at the same time. His arm twisted awkwardly, shoulder stinging as it barely remained where it was supposed to be, but he pushed himself up immediately, trying to clear his head. The assassin vaguely saw Kili's arrow take out the archer, as an odd wailing noise rose over the pounding in his ears.

Elladan. Elladan was screaming. Why was he...?

His vision cleared.

_No._

Erestor stood where Legolas had been, pale but still standing, the Shadowed Elf's arrow in his chest. For a moment, the assassin's mind rejected the image before him, shock quickly transforming into horror as the reality of what he was seeing struck home. The scholar was not even screaming, unlike the elder son of Elrond, seemingly unaware of his injury, merely staring into the distance with a bewildered expression on his face.

Erestor wobbled uncertainly, collapsing to his knees. Boromir— who was closest— caught him before he could fall completely, cradling him in his arms as he lowered the scholar gently to the ground. The other members of the Fellowship were finally reacting, the healers rushing forward, the warriors forming a protective circle, and the hobbits sobbing or watching the scene with shocked eyes.

Legolas himself was still paralyzed, staring at the scholar with horror. The image in front of him seemed to flicker, the elf turning into a very familiar man, before he returned to reality, vision swimming. He saw a weak hand reach up to Boromir, who still held the injured elf, pulling his head closer. The barely discernible buzz of words met Legolas's roaring ears. He could not decipher them, even if he wanted to, his mind lost in a desperate, repeating prayer.

_Not again. Not again. Please, not again._

Feeling like a spectator in a surreal dream, Legolas could only watch as Gandalf snapped orders at Aragorn, Elrohir, and Elladan, the glow of magic casting strange shadows across their faces. The rushed around, grabbing herbs, balms, and bandages from packs as quickly as they could before returning to the Wizard's side. But the assassin was too knowledgeable about such things to have any hope for a miracle.

A miracle...

Legolas forced himself to his feet, stumbling over towards the crowd of healers. He could heal souls that were plagued by Dark curses, and purge Shadows from wounds. Maybe he could help here. Maybe he could—

Frodo intercepted him before he could take more than two steps, small hands pressing against the assassin's abdomen as he attempted to halt the elf's progress. "Legolas, no! You aren't that kind of healer. You can't heal physical wounds! You'll only waste energy and die!"

The logical part of Legolas's mind knew this to be true, but the illogical part was screaming that he had to try, he had to do something, because there was too much blood and Aragorn and Gandalf's movements were becoming more frantic and—

Unfocused silver eyes turned to Legolas, the hobbit's cries drawing the scholar's attention to the pair amidst the chaos. Erestor's aura was flickering, the array of emotions the elf was feeling battering at Legolas's senses like a storm. Erestor could have been thinking anything as he looked at the assassin.

_Don't blame yourself. I chose to do this. You have to live on._

_I hate you. This is your fault. I shouldn't have saved you. Why did I get shot instead of you...?_

Those eyes slid shut, and Aragorn began yelling, screaming at the elf to stay awake. The assassin could feel himself returning to his daze, the Ranger's desperate bellows fading to the background. This could not be real. Erestor's aura flared again, fading fast, but denial still clung to Legolas's mind. There had to be a miracle. Something had to happen to stop this. They had to save him...

In an instant, the aura faded, snuffed out like a candle, leaving a blank nothingness behind. Legolas blinked, violet eyes moving slowly to Erestor's unmoving chest before returning to his pale, peaceful face. Aragorn sat back, eyes blank, expression stunned, while Elladan began raging at the sky, Elrohir silently sobbing beside him. Legolas could not decipher the older twin's angry word, the roaring in his ears blocking out the sounds of the others' grief.

The hobbits seemed unsure of what had happened, Pippin's mouth moving as he asked a shaking Merry a question, while Gimli collapsed to his knees, bawling. Eomer, like Legolas, did not react, as silent and unmoving as the assassin. Gandalf silently reached up and closed Erestor's eyes, head bowed.

_He died for me._

The thought was like a bolt of lightning, forcing Legolas back to reality with a harsh crack. The cocoon of bewilderment and numbness he had wrapped himself in shattered, leaving the elf raw and exposed to the truth.

_Erestor just died for me._

He was shaking, his bow bouncing slightly on his right shoulder, making it sting.

_I promised this would not happen again. I made a vow._

"He... He told me the location of the Temple." Boromir whispered suddenly.

Legolas did not care. He did not care about the Black Weapons, or Iãgaw, or the Temple. He did not care about the crying hobbits, or stunned men, or mourning dwarves. His mind was consumed by one thought, guilt slowly devouring his insides as shock wore away. Things he could have done differently raced through his mind as he turned all blame on himself.

_Erestor is dead. Its my fault. I should have moved faster. I should have sensed the Shadowed Elf sooner. I should not have frozen. Now he's dead because of me. Why do the people I care about always die for me?_ _**Why?** _

It was because of some weakness on his part. That had to be it. He was not strong enough. He was not good enough.

_I was distracted. I made a mistake. I flinched when the darkness came when I should have struck to kill._

_I won't be distracted again._

The Fellowship gathered around the fallen scholar, some in shock, others mourning their fallen comrade in their own way. None spared a glance for the guilt-ridden young elf who stayed at the outskirts of their group. If they had been thinking clearly, a few would have tried to comfort him, spoken to him, let him cry and grieve. But they did not.

Legolas's violet irises darkened to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Naneth/Nana: Mother/Mom, Mommy (Note: Someone recently told me that "Nana" is technically not the correct term for mom/mommy, but I and so many other authors use it that I just don't feel like going through all the chapters and changing it. Maybe eventually I will, but not now.)
> 
> Ionin: my son
> 
> Iellnin: my daughter


	6. Falling into the Abyss

Iãgaw stood with his hands clasped behind his back, red eyes closed and head tilted upward. His eyelids fluttered slightly, not quite opening, before he frowned in discontent. Amulug, Provodak, and one of the Nazgûl— the Void had not bothered to learn his name— watched their leader patiently, though the wraith's cloak would occasionally shift.

Finally, the demon opened his eyes, sighing and shaking his head. "My Shadowed Elf failed to kill the one that is blocking my sight. I still cannot see the Fellowship's exact location."

Irritation slowly washed over the Void's features, and the Nazgûl stepped back nervously. An angry Iãgaw usually resulted in someone dying, and the Nazgûl was perfectly aware that he was the least important to the demon of the three underlings in the room. Crimson eyes flicked to the wraith, who froze.

"Will you send more warriors to find them again, My Lord?" Amulug asked, ever the eager Shadowed Elf. "You can sense their deaths, even with that Fellowship member blocking your sight. Surely—"

"Quiet, Amulug." Iãgaw said coolly, and the elf clamped his mouth shut, bowing slightly in apology. "If I truly wanted to be able to See them, I would go and kill..." He paused, eyes resting on Provodak before drifting away. "...that elf myself. But I suppose if I did that, they would panic and be suspicious about me letting the rest of them go... I still need them to give me the location of the Temple. I could always force it out of them, but I tend to get so impatient..."

"Let me capture the Fellowship, My Lord." Amulug said earnestly, but with an odd, tense undertone to his voice. "You said that you would send me after Ara— them."

The Void appraised him. "Indeed I did. Very well. I will send you with your kin to capture them.  _Capture_ , not kill. Not until I know where the Temple is hidden."

"Yes, My Lord." Amulug said, a dark grin flashing across his features.

He bowed and rushed out, Iãgaw watching him go with amusement. "I still cannot decide whether he is a child, eager to please, or a monster waiting to be unleashed. Whatever, the outcome, this will be fun to witness..."

Iãgaw idly noted that the Nazgûl had left the room as well, and scowled. "I did not dismiss him. The coward will need to be punished for that." He felt eyes boring into his back and turned to his assassin, meeting burning hazel eyes with a sardonic eyebrow. "Is something wrong, my Shade?"

"The one you sent a Shadowed Elf to kill was an elf." Provodak stated.

"Yes." The Void answered, bemused.

"An elf who can block your sight."

"Indeed. My, my. This  _must_  be important to you if you are speaking such  _long_  sentences about—"

"What is his name?" Provodak demanded sharply.

Iãgaw paused, eyes narrowing to slits. He vaguely remembered the time, decades before he was fully awoken, when the Witch-King and Saruman had tried to find the person who had been blocking their sight. He remembered the elf's first name— but not his last for some reason— and also the fact that he had been a certain assassin's pupil.

_Legolas_.

"I do not know, Provodak." Iãgaw lied smoothly. "I know of his existence from prior events, but not his identity. I can, however, assure you that he is not the one you seek. Do not worry, you will find him eventually. For now, I have other missions for you to complete."

Iãgaw could not allow the assassin to know the Light he sought was with the Fellowship. Not yet. Despite his 'loyalty' to the Void, Provodak's first objective was finding and destroying the Lights that tormented him, just like any other Shade. Once he found the location of the Light, he would ruthlessly hunt it, and kill anyone who got between him and his student. Iãgaw could not let that happen. Not until he knew where the Black Weapons resided.

Provodak met his sharp gaze steadily, the fire still in his hazel eyes, before he turned on his heel and walked out without another word. The demon watched him go, then chuckled.

_What a strong-willed man. I do hope that he will continue to obey me. Otherwise, I might just have to destroy him early._

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Aragorn was afraid.

No, afraid was not quite the right word. Uneasy, lost, confused, shocked, and worried seemed to be more accurate words for how he was feeling. But he could not show his insecurities, no matter how much he wished he could. He had to be the calm eye in the storm of pain and sadness around him.

The Fellowship was in a state of shock, stumbling along their route like children who had lost their way in the woods. Most of the Company was huddled together in a group, subconsciously wishing for companionship as they each mourned in their own way. Pippin was still crying softly, Merry's firm grip on his arm being the only thing that was keeping him from crashing into anything. His cousin's eyes were red-rimmed as well, but he remained firm and relatively strong as he guided the Took along.

Sam hovered at Merry's other side, looking down at his feet as he walked, cloak wrapped tightly around himself as if he could not get warm. Every once in a while he would look around nervously, flinching when gusts of wind caused the stones around them to wail. Each time, Sam's eyes would flit over the warriors of the Fellowship and he would relax slightly, even as he bit his lip in worry.

Frodo alone was the only hobbit to remain alert, pushing his turmoil aside temporarily with an efficiency Aragorn could scarcely believe he had. There was a strength in Frodo that had laid well-hidden under his big blue eyes and soft way of speaking. Then again, the brunette hobbit had traveled much in the past couple decades, seeing things that should never be spoken of.

The Ranger silently reminded himself to watch Frodo more carefully, but to trust him more as well, because he was much more capable than the man's preconceptions had allowed him to see. Hobbits could be formidable allies, and Aragorn was ashamed to admit that he had believed Frodo to be in need of protection because of his race.

The dwarves and men were handling things better than the hobbits. After the initial shock and grief they had snapped into a state of nervous tension, waiting for another attack. Kili and Fili had not voiced a single joke at Gimli's expense. Boromir had remained tense for so long that Aragorn knew it would only cause his injured shoulder to hurt more once he finally tried to relax.

Eomer was also tense, walking with a hand on his sword-hilt. Sometimes his nervous eyes would scan the edge of their group, landing on a certain elf. The tiniest unexpected noise caused him to unsheathe the blade slightly, his wariness visible on his face. They were ready for an attack even as they wondered if they could stop it, the fear of losing someone else sharp in their minds.

Gandalf could be feeling anything from grief to rage at the moment, but nothing but harsh urgency showed on his aged features. He hurried the group along, ushering stragglers forward like a shepherd herded sheep. Some may see his actions as unkind, but Aragorn knew that the Fellowship needed to keep moving, to put distance between themselves and the enemies that kept on coming.

Elladan and Elrohir were twin images of detachment, striding forward with serenity and grace, but Aragorn knew their blank expressions were facades. Elrohir would reach out to his brother and grip his sleeve before letting go, and the Ranger deduced that there was a silent conversation happening between the two as they tried to keep each other calm.

Out of the group, they and Aragorn were the closest to Erestor, and his death had to be hurting them as much as it pained the Ranger, their grief and guilt tearing them apart. Even with all of their healing abilities, even with Gandalf's magic and Aragorn's skill, they could not save them. When it mattered most, none of their training, none of their abilities mattered.

They had failed to save Erestor—  _I failed—_

Aragorn's breath exited his throat sharply, a small, gasping sound escaping him. He pressed his lips together firmly, brushing a hand across his face, and tried to breathe evenly.

_I cannot grieve now. I cannot cry. I need to stay calm. The Fellowship may still be in danger. I need to focus on those that are still alive._

The memory of warm, crimson blood on his hands made him shudder, the image of too-pale skin flashing before his mind's eye.

Breathe in. And out.

The trembling stopped, and Aragorn forced his thoughts to turn outwards, letting his concern for others states of minds overshadow his own turmoil. However, one source of guilt was merely swapped for another as the Ranger glanced at the final member of the Fellowship.

Legolas was not doing well. In fact, he was most likely doing the opposite of well. One would think that he was the calmest and most stable of the Fellowship if they just looked at him, but a single glance had told the Ranger that the assassin was not in the most stable frame of mind.

Aragorn, who had faced orcs, Shadowed Elves, Nazgûl, and all sorts of perilous situations without flinching, had never been as terrified as he felt when he looked at Legolas after Erestor's funeral, and saw his dark plumb-colored eyes.

The Ranger would normally not have been bothered by his friend's altered eye color— and the mentality that came with it— if not for the fact that Legolas's eyes were  _still_  black. The assassin's default instinct was to be quiet and speak only a little, but now he may as well be mute. The elf had not spoken a word since Erestor had passed on, nor had he even acknowledged the other Fellowship members at all. Instead of checking on his comrades and the Hobbits in particular, making sure they were all right and listening to their woes and fears, Legolas stayed on the edge of their little group.

Only careful scans of the immediate area around them showed he was there at all. His hood and face-mask were up, his cloak blending into the gray stones that surrounded them, and if Aragorn had not gained the recent habit of checking on the elf, he would not even know he was still with them. It was as if he were a ghost; silent, unresponsive, and distant, unable or unwilling to interact with the living.

It made Aragorn uncomfortable, and he could not work up the courage to speak to his friend. There was a tension in the air around the assassin that sent chills up his spine, warning of the danger and death that could easily be unleashed.

The man was guiltily glad that Gimli was too grief-stricken to goad the assassin. He feared what may happen if the dwarf teased or prodded the elf now. The Ranger did not know how Legolas would react to anything while in this state, but he had the feeling that his first instinct would be to follow up with violent retaliation.

Right then, Legolas felt less like a member of the Fellowship and more like an assassin stalking them from the shadows, ready to lash out and  _kill_  the moment he was provoked.

Ai Valar, he felt terrible for even thinking such a thing about his friend. This was Legolas, the loyal, cheerful elf who liked sweet cakes, played pranks, and fought so hard against the Darkness that tried to control his life. The assassin did not seem Dark, even now. Nor did he seem to be sad, worried, exhausted, concerned, or even wallowing in self-blame.

He just seemed...  _cold_.

It took another half hour of silent traveling— Was it possible to wander aimlessly when one had a destination?— before Aragorn finally stepped into walk beside the assassin. Legolas did not turn to face him, but the tension around him grew even thicker. If the Ranger did not know any better, he would swear that he could read the elf's aura like a book. The message he read?

Stay away or  _die._

_Legolas would never hurt me or anyone in the Fellowship,_ Aragorn berated himself, even as he acknowledged his unease.

The man briefly wondered if the assassin was projecting the aura of unfriendliness intentionally, or if he was just that good at reading the elf's barely discernible body language. Elrohir's sudden flinch and nervous glance at the two of them answered his mental query.

"It was not your fault." the silver-eyed man managed to say at last.

The assassin turned away and kept walking in silence. Aragorn swallowed hard, feeling like he was trying to talk down an enemy rather than comfort a friend.

"No one blames you Esgal, and you should not blame yourself."

No reaction.

"I know that what you're doing is a defense mechanism, but you do not have to bottle up your feelings."

Silence.

"If you keep this inside of you, it will only hurt more when you let your emotions out."

The assassin did not even look at him. He may as well have been conversing with a wall.

"I'm worried about you. And soon the others will be too, once they realize..." Aragorn trailed off. "You do not have to deal with this on your own. I'm here to listen, and help you. We all are."

Finally, the hood turned. The Ranger stiffened, heart pounding as cold black eyes studied him. Legolas's right hand twitched, clenching into a fist, and the Ranger tensed, wondering if the elf was about to attack him.

A wail made Aragorn whirl around sharply, nearly tripping over his own feet. Legolas's lack of violent movement should have notified him that foes were not the cause of the cry, but it was still startling to see Elladan curled up on the ground, shoulders shaking.

His twin hovered at his side, voice low and concerned as he spoke in Sindarin.  _"Elladan, do not despair. Please, brother, you have to stay strong. We cannot fall to grief now!"_

" _I d-don't understand."_  Elladan whispered in the same language.  _"How could Erestor die? He was always so stern, so invincible. How did this happen?"_

Elrohir hesitated, teeth clenching.  _"I... I don't know."_  He was unable to find any words of comfort for his brother, trapped in the same chasm of grief as his twin.

The older twin shook his head, covering his face with his hands.  _"Ro, we couldn't even give him a proper_ funeral _. We had to_ bury _him."_

He was crying, Aragorn realized, watching with a mixture of sympathy and alarm. The hobbits were sobbing again as well, Elladan's grief reawakening their own, while the men watched with decidedly uncomfortable expressions on their faces.

_They've never seen an elf act so emotional before,_  Aragorn assumed.

_...Do they find this display disgusting? Do they think Elladan is weak because of it?_

The dark thought was sudden, and swiftly following it came a burst of anger. The Ranger forced his rampant emotions back under control, breathing sharply.  _Stay calm. Now is not the time to start a fight._

It unnerved him to realize that a small part of him  _wanted_  to. Wanted to rant and rage and take out his anger on somebody, to find someone to blame for all that had happened. Emotions were wonderful but dangerous things, and Aragorn knew that the threads that were keeping the Fellowship together were slowly unraveling already.

_We truly are a disaster waiting to happen, aren't we?_

Gandalf banged his staff on the ground, drawing the group's attention away from the mourning elves. "Elladan, return to your feet. Elrohir, help your brother if you must."

"Give him a moment to grieve, would you?" Gimli snapped at the Wizard, expression taut and angry.

Aragorn began walking towards the little gathering, idly noting Legolas staying at his side like a ghost. He trusted Gandalf to stay calm, but the Ranger needed to be ready to interfere if necessary. Elladan remained on the ground, seemingly unaware of the argument that was happening above him, and Elrohir made no move to help his brother up, murmuring softly in his ear.

The Istar looked down at the auburn-haired dwarf with soul-searching blue eyes. "I apologize, but now is not the time to wallow in sorrow. We are too exposed here. This day will end soon, and we have many leagues to go before we may rest. We  _must_  to continue on, and reach the Temple as quickly as possible." Gandalf said firmly. "Our mission  _must_  be completed before Iãgaw catches onto..."  _—the fact that we're searching for the Weapons that can destroy him—_  "...our purpose."

A strangled, harsh laugh made more than one person jump. Kili smiled at Gandalf even as his stocky frame shook, and he let loose another mirthless guffaw.

"'Our purpose?'" Kili giggled dangerously. "'O-Our  _purpose_?' Iagaw  _knows_  about our purpose!" The dwarf's shout caused Pippin to flinch, stepping nervously behind Merry.

Kili raised his arms mockingly, expression twisted with rage and despair. "Do not jest with yourself, Gandalf. The Void knows exactly what we've set out to do! Do you think he keeps sending enemies after us for fun? Did you not see who that Shadowed Elf  _targeted_? He tried to kill  _Esgal_ , the W—"

Fili clapped a hand over his brother's mouth, silencing him. " _Hush_ , Kili. Think about what you are saying!"

The Dwarf Prince's eyes narrowed in anger before widening, and he shoved his brother's hand away from his face. "Sorry."

Although one secret had been kept from the enemy that may or may not had been watching them, damage had still been done. Legolas himself looked unmoved by Kili's revelation, but all Aragorn could feel was gut-wrenching horror and fear. Confusion and grief was replaced by panic as the Fellowship realized what had nearly happened. And most of them only knew about half of it. Aragorn was unlucky enough to know the full meaning of Kili's words.

They had almost lost a Wielder  _and_  a Royal with one arrow.

_This is madness,_  Aragorn thought numbly.  _We never should have allowed Legolas to come with us. If he dies..._

"Do not regret my coming on this mission." the assassin spoke for the first time since Erestor's death. Aragorn's foolish hope that Legolas was miraculously back to normal was instantly dashed when silver met black eyes. He said nothing more, crossing his arms and observing them all like a shadow.

"It is too late to consider that now." The Ranger spoke up carefully, eying each shadow like it was an enemy. "Gandalf is right, we need to move on. It is not safe here."

"Is anywhere safe?" Pippin asked quietly.

No one responded to him. One look into the hobbit's tired eyes made Aragorn realize he already knew the answer. Silently, Eomer went beside Elrohir and Elladan, and the elf and man hoisted the older twin up, supporting him. Elladan seemed to be almost catatonic, stumbling along without complaint and an alarming blank expression on his face. Something nagged at the back of the silver-eyed man's mind, trying to gain his attention, but for the life of him he could not think of what bothered him so greatly about the scene besides the obvious.

He turned slightly, twitching when he saw Legolas had moved and was now right beside him. The assassin watched the three slow-moving members with an intensity that was unnerving, black eyes narrowed to slits. Those eyes met Aragorn's, moved to Gandalf, then back to Elladan again. The elf's lip curled into what could only be a sneer.

"You are both fools."

Legolas walked off without another word, leaving the man reeling. Hurt and confusion swirled like a torrent within him, with small spurts of anger joining into the mix. The rational part of him knew that the assassin would never say something like that, while the more vulnerable part of him wailed in despair and wondered why his friend had just insulted him.

But he had consider the assassin's mentality right then. He had only spoken before to barely defend his position on this quest. He would not just insult Aragorn... and Gandalf. Why would Legolas call them fools? Try as he might, he could not decipher a reason. He did not know what the assassin was thinking now.

His friend was not sharing anything either. There was something obvious that he and Gandalf were missing, something that in this state Legolas either did not see as important enough to outright tell them, or did not trust them enough to inform them what it was.

That hurt more then Aragorn thought it would.

They kept walking, just walking in silence, and from the back of the group the silver-eyed man could observe the entirety of the Fellowship, and understand the bad shape they truly were in. Where before there had been cracks, the Ranger could now practically see the Fellowship breaking apart.

Legolas had distanced himself and cut himself off from his emotions. Eomer did not trust the elf before, but now he stared at him like he was the Void incarnate. Elladan was as incapacitated as if he had been stabbed, with Elrohir struggling to hold them both together. Gimli and Kili were angry at Gandalf, sending glares at the Istar's back, while Fili determinedly kept the peace, speaking softly in his kins' ears. The younger hobbits had lost their trust in the 'invincible' warriors around them, having just found out that even the elves could be taken by death. Boromir was still injured, and bore the burden of the knowledge he dare not share aloud.

And Aragorn? Aragorn felt like an observer, distant from the tension and grief around him and thus unable to find the words to relieve them. He let Gandalf take the lead, although he knew that he should, because he could not be trusted to make decisions. He could not be trusted with the Fellowship's lives.

He had already failed them once.


	7. With a Whimper

"Captain? Captain? Captain Faramir!"

The younger brother of Boromir jerked awake with a start, head meeting the wall he had been slumbering against with a solid thud. Wincing, Faramir reached up to rub the spot, bleary eyes focusing on his lieutenant, Madril.

"Has there been another attack?" he immediately asked, stumbling to his feet.

Madril shook his head, quick to chase away the stressful urgency that had taken hold of the man. "No. You fell asleep where you stood, and I assumed you would rather not be seen slumbering in the hall by... certain people." He politely ignored Faramir's grimace. "How long has it been since you last slept in your chambers?"

Faramir rubbed a hand over his face, as if doing so would wipe away his lingering exhaustion. "Only a few days. There's no time to rest now."

Attacks throughout Gondor had been relentless and random, the enemy appearing out of nowhere to slaughter villages before vanishing into the shadows. There was no way to predict where the armies of orcs and Shadowed Elves were going to strike next, and by the time Faramir, the Rangers, or Gondorian soldiers made it to a town, it was far too late for anyone.

Usually there would be time to evacuate villages, stock up supplies, and prepare defenses, but the enemy could appear  _anywhere_. Faramir and his men were the Rangers of the South, with the stealth of elves and the skills of the greatest warriors, but now they were unable to put those skills to use. The awareness that were helpless to stop their foes had been slow in coming, but as more and more towns fell, as more and more innocents died, hopelessness was gripping the hearts of even the strongest men.

Faramir took a breath, shoving away the haunting images from the last village he had gone to from his mind. He did not sleep because he needed to be ready to move out if needed, but also because he could not bear to dream about the horrors he had seen in the last few months.

_So many deaths. So much destruction. All because a demon would rather play with us than kill us all outright. Are my father's claims true?_ Faramir thought, doubt creeping back into his mind with the familiarity of a despised friend.  _Is there no hope left, no chance of us winning? No. I refuse to believe that. Boromir is out there right now, finding a way to defeat the Void. I know he will find those Black Weapons he wrote about. Won't he?_

A hand landed on his shoulder, making him start, and Madril gave him a stern look. "You're going to dig yourself into an early grave if you keep worrying about all this. Just take a few hours and  _rest_. You'll be no good to anyone if you fall asleep when we need you."

Faramir hummed vaguely ready to disagree, but relented. "All right. Wake me if there is word of another attack."

"Excellent." Madril said, satisfied. He glanced at the cloudy sky. "I believe that it is early in the afternoon. If you needed to finish something before tonight, I will gladly…" Just as quickly, his lieutenant's smile vanished. "Captain..."

The ginger-haired man glanced outside the window and held back a curse. Soldiers were rushing about outside, some pointing at the sky while others urgently put arrows to their bows. Hardly visible in the midst of the shadows cast by the dreary sky, a large, bold shadow swooped briefly above the scurrying men like an omen of death.

_Nazgûl!_ Was Faramir's first thought, as he ran to join his men with Madril at his side.

He too, looked skyward, spotting a dark shape flying swiftly back towards Minas Tirith. It was in range of the city now, bypassing the outer walls with no sign of resistance. What were the guards on the outer wall doing? Why weren't they shooting the thing down? A cry sounded, making several soldiers jump, but the tension in Faramir's body faded away, replaced by relief.

Madril shared his sentiment, letting loose a startled laugh. "That's no fell beast!"

Some of the men realized this as well, lowering their weapons, but others remained firm, sighting along their arrows as they prepared to take a shot. New urgency swept through Faramir as quickly as the old had gone.

"Stop!  _STOP!_ " Faramir shouted, racing into the courtyard. "Lower your weapons! Can you not see that is an Eagle?"

"There's elves on its back, sir!" one of the archers said tensely. "I can see them."

Faramir did not even hesitate in his response. "An Eagle would never carry a Shadowed Elf on his back." He said firmly. "Lower your weapons..." He hesitated, grimaced, then said, "...But keep your swords at the ready."

The men approved of his words, some placing arrows back in their quivers and exchanging them for swords or spears, while others held strung bows loose at their sides. The Eagle circled a few times above the city, bursts of sparse sunlight making his feathers glow, before it landed directly in front of Faramir, nearly bowling him and the other soldiers over with a gust of wind.

"Faramir!" the Eagle chirped, and the man's awe quickly turned into surprise as he recognized the majestic— but young— creature.

"Thiad?" the Steward's son questioned, recognizing the Eagle that had carried his brother off after his argument with their father.

"Its nice to see you, Faramir." Thiad greeted happily, though his feathers were fluffed and his wings were held oddly behind his back, as if he were trying to shield something. Faramir could just spot a part of one of the elves behind the appendage. The Eagle peered at the tense Gondorians cautiously. "Um..."

"Lower your weapons." Faramir ordered the soldiers once more. "Thiad is a friend."

The soldiers reluctantly did as he said, and Thiad relaxed, turning his head to look at his passengers. "Sorry about that. I'll let you off now."

"Your protection was appreciated, I assure you." the words were formal, but said in a shaky, strained voice.

Faramir was momentarily startled, having never heard an elf speak with such weakness before. As one he and Madril stepped forward as Thiad moved his wings, revealing the three elves on his back. The two males were obviously supporting the female elf, and all three were a little worse for wear. Crimson blood stained the tunics and armor of all of them, the most covering the she-elf, and Faramir felt an uncomfortable tension in his throat at the sight.

Unlike the graceful, calm image he had always seen elves portray, these elves had the look of defeated soldiers heading back from a battle they had just lost. The silver-gold haired elf's eyes met Faramir's, the pain and fear in his gaze so potent that the man had to force himself not to look away. The elf straightened, an aura of majesty and serenity covering the humanity he had just shown, and opened his mouth to speak. A choking sound escaped him and he swallowed visibly, the illusion of calm vanishing as quickly as it came.

"Please," the silver-gold haired elf said, cradling the she-elf in his arms. "Please help our sister. She's dying."

"Tell the healers to prepare a bed." Faramir ordered one of the soldiers. "You two, carry her to the Houses of Healing."

The first man ran off, while the other two approached the sitting elf, who tensed. The silver-haired elf, who had remained silent and unresponsive until now, gave a loud gasp and intercepted the men's advance, snapping a warning in Sindarin.

" _(Stay away from them!)_ "

The men jumped, weapons back in their hands.

"Sheathe your blades!" Faramir said harshly. "We are not enemies."

"Tell that to him." one of the men muttered, and Faramir made a mental note to find out the man's name later.

" _(Calm down, brother.)_ " the silver-gold haired elf soothed. " _(They are trying to help our sister.)_ "

" _(No! I won't let them near you.)_ " the silver-haired elf panted, a sheen of sweat on his brow. " _(They're a threat. Look at them. They're ready to attack us!)_ "

Indeed, the men's hands were mere inches from their sword hilts, fingers twitching as they just restrained from releasing their blades from their sheathes. Neither they nor the elf were at their most rational state of mind at the moment, and the situation could easily devolve into a bitter fight between allies.

Faramir cleared his throat, and was promptly the target of a sharp, emerald stare. The elf's eyes were unfocused, his breathing rapid, and the man could tell he was still not completely in his right mind after whatever battle they had taken part in. Faramir was glad he could not say he also knew what it was like to see a sibling be injured in front of him, but the mere thought of such a thing happening to anyone let Faramir's innate sympathy win over his caution.

" _(It is all right.)_ " he said in careful Sindarin, making the two elves look at him in surprise. " _(We are not your enemies. You are safe here. Let us help your sister.)_ "

" _(You speak Sindarin?)_ " the silver-haired elf questioned, seemingly shocked out of his panic.

" _(Indeed.)_ " Faramir replied, the words falling almost naturally from his lips.  _"(I know my fellow men seem hostile, but please know that we are not a threat to you or your kin. We only wish to help your sister, if you would let us. Our healers are very skilled.)_ "

The words for the other assurances and pledges of safety he wished to convey to the elf fled the man's mind and he grew silent, nervously waiting for the other's response. He was not a skilled healer, but he could tell that the female elf needed medical care as soon as possible. Intense green eyes— Were they  _glowing_?— continued to bore into Faramir's own, staring deep into his heart and judging him as if trying to detect any signs of deception.

Those eyes were far too old for that youthful face, and Faramir had to repel the wave of nerves that threatened to overwhelm him as he stared down the ancient being that was far more knowledgeable and venerable than he was. For a brief second Faramir feared that he might have angered the elf by revealing that an outsider, a  _man_ , knew the language of his people, but then the other bowed his head.

" _(Very few men take the time to learn our language. I'll trust you then. For now.)_ "

He took a shuddering breath and stepped aside. Faramir waved the soldiers forward and stayed close as the men put the she-elf on a stretcher. The silver-haired elf walked next to the men as they hurried to the Houses of Healing, not close enough to get in the way, but near enough to interfere if the men tried something.

The other elf pulled him away a little, speaking again in Sindarin. " _(Fael, they are trying to help. Give them room to breathe.)_ "

" _(I can't trust them.)_ " the silver-haired elf said flatly, well aware that Faramir could understand him. " _(I won't trust them._ She _got near Bere and stabbed her when we weren't looking. Then she almost killed you. I won't be caught off guard again.)_ "

The look he gave Faramir after that was almost defiant. The man decided it was best not to respond. As the she-elf—  _Elleth_ , he reminded himself— was carried into the Houses, her silver-haired brother attempted to follow the men inside, only to be stopped by his other sibling's hand on his arm.

" _(Let the healers do their work. You would only get in their way.)_ " he said. When his sibling opened his mouth to protest, the elf continued. " _(They will not harm her.)_ "

The elf— Faramir really needed to learn their names— eyed his brother suspiciously before sitting heavily in a chair on the opposite side of the hall. The other elf sat as well, eyes never leaving the now-closed door. Before Faramir could debate whether to stay with them or leave them under the watch of someone else, Madril spoke in his ear.

"Since sleep is most likely impossible for you now, you might as well wait with them. I will go tell the men not to speak of what happened, or tell anyone about our new guests."

Faramir nodded his thanks and sat across from the elves, exhaustion tugging at his limbs. He was surprised to see that the silver-haired brother was leaning on his sibling, eyes closed and breathing soft. Worry gnawed at the Gondorian's mind, but the awake elf quickly banished his fears.

"He is alright, merely exhausted." the silver-gold haired elf murmured. "I'm sorry about my brother. He was calm on the ride here, but when he saw the soldiers with their weapons, he panicked. He had to kill a... tough enemy in order to save my sister and I, and the experience has shaken him. Although I do not understand how killing Na—" His breathe hitched. "... that enemy created a sudden wariness of men."

Something flickered in his ancient eyes, and Faramir deduced that now was not the best time to press him for details. "Do not worry about it. I understand." Deciding it was best to skip useless formalities, he simply introduced himself. "I am Faramir, son of Denethor."

The silver-gold haired elf glanced at him in genuine surprise. "Oh. Right. We never told you our names. Megilag, son of Thranduil. That is Fael, my brother. Bereneth, my sister, is..." He trailed off, looking at the closed doors with open fear and— self?— loathing before looking back. "I apologize for not following proper manners and protocols when we entered your city."

"Greeting others properly in accordance to custom would not be high on my list of priorities either if I were in your situation," Faramir said gently, mind reeling. Out of all the elves to come here, it just had to be  _three_  of the Elvenking's children. The man distinctly remembered that the Sanctuary could— or was it 'would'?— fail if even one of the Royals of Mirkwood perished. Why would they be out of their realm, and in Gondor no less? "No offense has been taken, so do not worry about that."

Megilag relaxed slightly. "Thank you. I will admit that I have not been to Gondor in many centuries. Some people are more sensitive to perceived slights than others, and I was slightly concerned about not following the normal procedures when we arrived here." The Prince looked at his sleeping brother, he grimaced. "I suppose we should meet whoever is in power here, since they will be giving us refuge."

"Once your sister is stable we will handle all of that." Faramir said easily. "I'm afraid I will have to formally introduce you to the Steward among other formalities." The man internally sighed, already predicting how well his father was going to react to the elves. Especially since they technically entered the city and were here without the Steward's permission or consent.

_That is going to be a lovely conversation_ , Faramir thought morosely.

"Thank you." Megilag said again, too tired to say anything more eloquent.

Seeing his sidelong glance at his brother, Faramir politely excused himself to give the elves some room. Madril stood next to the window, arms crossed and a deep frown on his face. The brother of Boromir recognized the look on his lieutenant's face and sighed.

"I see you disapprove of something I have done. What is it?"

"You probably should tell the Steward that there are elves in his healing halls." the Ranger began cautiously.

"I will, once they can present themselves better to my father." Faramir responded. "You know that he will see it as arrogance if they go before him looking travel-weary."

"He will see it as arrogance if they delay in seeing him and do not ask permission to stay in his city," Madril did not need to remind him. "You know that this is not going to be… simple. Your father is no longer a man that will allow it to be so."

Long ago, Faramir may have been shocked by the way that the lieutenant spoke about the Steward, but Denethor's pride and constant rejection of outside help was making many Gondorians question the man, which of course only made him more paranoid. Faramir was secretly of the opinion that only himself and Boromir were what was keeping people from abandoning Minas Tirith in droves... but a small part of him also thought people were either too foolish or too scared to leave, even if they wanted to.

_And so the mighty realm of Gondor sinks even deeper into despair_ , the man thought tiredly. "I will try to lessen my father's wrath against the elves."  _Hopefully he will not do something that will cause Thranduil to block all of Gondor from seeking refuge in the Sanctuary when we are finally forced to flee or die._

"Your father is not the only one I worry about. Shadowed Elves have been killing a lot of people." Madril said lowly. "Do you honestly think everyone will be happy to have elves here, even if they are not Dark?"

_When did elves stop being described as allies and start being described as 'not Dark'?_  Faramir silently mused. "I want you to keep trustworthy men with the elves at all times." he ordered Madril. "These are the Elvenking's children. The last thing we need is for something to happen to them."

Madril nodded in assent, but glanced out the window at the men in the courtyard, expression unreadable. "I will do my best, sir... but if people are angry enough, I doubt a couple soldiers will keep them from getting 'revenge'."

LOTRLOTRLOTR

"A large group of Dark presences just appeared at the edge of my range."

The words were said so calmly, in the blandest, most flat monotone, that for a moment Aragorn did not comprehend what Legolas had just said. He stopped, the rest of the Fellowship following his example, and all turned to the elf with various levels of confusion.

"There are around eighty enemies. I sense fifty-two Shadowed Elves among their ranks. They are approximately one and a half leagues to the west of us." the assassin continued to report without prompting, though his voice remained unconcerned.

One of the hobbits made an odd, hysterical noise from behind Aragorn, portraying nothing but fear, and like a wildfire it seemed to rip through the Fellowship, alarm on every face. The Ranger's normal reaction of readiness, his instinctive preparedness to take leadership and take action, was quickly overrun by panic and despair.

_Not again_ , the man thought.  _Can we not have a single day of peace?_

"Can we outrun them?" Eomer asked tersely, blue eyes settling on Aragorn. "Or should we try to ambush them?"

The Ranger choked for a moment, indecisive—  _What if my actions cause another death?_ — but his pushed his reservations aside with a great effort. "We should outrun them. There are too many to fight, especially if most of them are Shadowed Elves." Orcs and even men could be handled in larger groups by their party, but a large number of Shadowed Elves?

_A single Shadowed Elf killed Erestor._

"I doubt that running will help us." Gandalf said, face shadowed by his hat. "It can no longer be denied. They're tracking us somehow, even with my shield hiding us." He paused. "Or perhaps my shield is  _how_  they're following us..."

"Is that possible?" Fili asked.

"Perhaps. When there is so much Darkness in the world, Light Magic may become more noticeable." the Istar gave a heavy sigh. "Especially when you consider that there are very few Light Magic users to begin with."

"So you're saying that your magic may be drawing the enemy to us rather than keeping them away?" Gimli groaned. "Wonderful. I always knew magic was just a pretty beacon."

The Wizard shot the dwarf a sharp look. "Now is not the time for sarcasm, Master Dwarf. If the enemy truly is able to track us, I believe our best chance is to split into two groups."

The responses to his words were complete silence. Everyone— except Legolas— stared at the Istar in bewilderment.

"Having two trails may confuse them, or make the enemy divide their forces." Gandalf continued calmly.

"W-What?" Boromir spluttered. " _That's_  your plan after hearing about an  _army_  coming after us? That's mad! We would never find each other again."

"Actually, Esgal and I could track each group if we stayed within a league of each other." Elrohir said with the air of someone who had blurted the first thing that came to their mind. The elf balked slightly but did not take back his words. "I mean…"

"But why do you think should we split up at all?" Eomer interrupted, eyes narrowed. "Please explain, Gandalf."

"We cannot risk having the entire Fellowship being captured." The Wizard said forcefully. "Not all of us—" he paused, then changed what he was going to say. "With the enemy so close, we need a new plan other than fighting and running as a whole unit. We would also move faster in smaller groups."

Aragorn could not shake the feeling that Gandalf was holding something back in his explanation. He did not confront the Istar, however. Gandalf knew what he was doing.

"But if we're together, we have a larger force to fight against our pursuers." Fili argued.

_Being together didn't help save Erestor,_  Aragorn's mind mocked him.

Eomer snorted. "Do you truly think that fourteen of us can defeat almost a hundred orcs and Shadowed Elves?"

"We did pretty well against forty." Gimli muttered.

"And yet it took only one to—" Eomer began but Gandalf cut him off.

"We're wasting time. It seems our informal agreement about leadership has expired." Gandalf said coolly. "We'll vote. Stay together or split into two. You already know my vote and reasoning."

"We should stay together." Fili said immediately.

"I think we have a better chance in two groups." Eomer countered. "Split."

"I don't want to be separated." Pippin piped up nervously. "I think we should stay together."

"Together." Merry agreed shortly.

"With the risk of capture, having us all in one place seems like a bad plan." Kili spoke next. "Also, with two groups, we can keep some people apart."

Aragorn expected the dwarf's eyes to be twinkling with mischief, and was stunned to see nothing but seriousness in those brown orbs. Those who did not notice the brunette's expression scoffed or shook their heads, thinking he was being cheeky. But the Ranger saw how his eyes flicked between Legolas and Eomer, his brow furrowed.

"That's three for splitting up, three for staying together." Gandalf counted calmly. His eyes focused on Frodo. "What do you think, Frodo?"

The hobbit hesitated, but before he could speak, Elladan did. "I also think we should break apart."

He did not elaborate, even when his brother cast him a questioning glance. "Well I think staying together is our best option." Elrohir said quickly before turning his attention back to his again-silent twin.

"…We should travel in two groups." Frodo said quietly, revealing none of his thoughts.

"Split." Sam voted immediately.

Gimli gave a loud huff, eyes narrowed. "You're all mad, lads. Dividing ourselves is only going to cause us bigger trouble. Stay together."

"I agree. Together." Boromir voted.

"That's six for, six against." Gandalf counted. He glanced around their huddle, frowning. "Where is Esgal?"

"I think he's busy." Sam offered hesitantly.

Sure enough, Legolas was up above them, scanning the area around them with attentive dark eyes. Aragorn realized he was still tracking the enemy while they were standing around arguing. His guilt was quickly squashed by tension as black eyes met silver. The assassin's eyes narrowed to slits.

The Ranger looked away uneasily. "I don't think Esgal will care either way."

Sharp blue eyes peered at him and the Istar asked. "That just leaves you, Aragorn. What do you think is best for the Company?"

The Ranger hesitated. There seemed to be pros and cons to each decision, but his mind was too caught in doubt to clearly think about them all. Neither decision seemed wrong, but neither seemed right as well. Was it Gandalf's spell that attracted the enemy or was it something else? Did they have a better chance of reaching the Temple as one group or as two, with one away from the Light Magic and the other hidden or seen within it? Did a bigger group make them easier to track or ensure they had more protection?

_All of us together were not enough to save Erestor._

Aragorn closed his eyes. "We should split up and leave two trails. It would mean the end of our mission if all of us were found and captured all at once."

"It is decided then." Gandalf said heavily. "Let's waste no more time on this. We'll have two groups of seven. Elrohir and Esgal must be in different groups in order for us to keep track of each other. I will be with Elrohir, since Esgal can sense our presences even with my spell. Master Took, Master Brandybuck, you will be with me so I may keep an eye on you."

"I'll go with Esgal's group." Elladan said abruptly. "Elrohir and I can keep contact with each other if we're close enough as well."

Elrohir twitched, casting his brother a confused look before flinching harshly. Aragorn identified the look on the twin's face and winced internally. It would only be obvious to those that knew the twins well that Elladan had just snapped at his brother telepathically at best, forcebly closed off their mental link at worst.

"Boromir and Eomer will go with Esgal as well." Gandalf continued.

"Well, that didn't work." Kili muttered under his breathe. Only Aragorn seemed to hear him.

"As will Fili, Frodo, and Sam." The Wizard continued, seemingly at random.

_He must have been thinking about this while we were arguing,_ Aragorn thought sheepishly.  _But we really should get moving. We've already wasted time._

Fili looked like the only one who was ready to argue. The dwarf had a noticeable angry look on his face, glaring at Gandalf like the Wizard had just kicked his dog. "I don't think—"

"The Enemy is not less than a league away." Esgal reported, sprinting back to the group. "We need to depart."

Gandalf's jaw clenched. "No more arguing. Say goodbye, and let's go with haste! Boromir's group, go on ahead. We are on a mission, and we already have spent too long being distracted from it."

As Aragorn watched the others— the dwarves and hobbits in particular— bid their goodbyes, he felt less like he was breaking away from his comrades as they went their separate ways, and more like he was hurriedly saying farewell as they were each being shoved into an enemy's prison cell. Despite Gandalf's proclamations, everything was happening too fast. One minute they were together as one, the next half of them were going to leave?

_There's no time to put more consideration into this_ , the Ranger told himself.  _The enemy is almost upon us, is tracking us down._  His eyes trailed over the members of the other group, lingering on Legolas.  _We need to focus, and find a way to increase our chances of finishing our mission…_

He did not believe himself.

With a feeling of distant bewilderment, Aragorn watched the other group depart, feeling that they all had just made a huge mistake.

_So this is how the Fellowship breaks,_  he thought.  _Not with a bang, but with a whimper._

LOTRLOTRLOTR

It was only a few hours into their separate journey, and Frodo could already feel the glaring absence of the other seven members of the Fellowship. Merry and Pippin were no longer there to ask when supper was. Gandalf was probably reprimanding them right now. Aragorn was not leading this part of the Fellowship through the woods with the confidence only a Ranger like him could possess. Elrohir was missing from his brother's side, making it seem like half of something beautiful and whole was gone. Gimli was not around to banter with Legolas.

And Kili was not present to joke with his brother, who was in a mood so surly that it made Thorin's legendary brooding episodes seem like happy times filled with smiles and giggles. Glancing sidelong at the Dwarf Prince, Frodo could not help but feel slightly intimidated by the dark glare that Fili directed straight ahead, partnered with a scowl so severe that the hobbit wondered how the trees ahead did not burst into flames.

Frodo hoped Fili would not be angry at Gandalf for long. The hobbit did not have a sibling, so he could not fully understand why the dwarf was so upset he had been separated from his brother. Surely they had been places without the other before, right? They were Princes, they could not go everywhere together.

Fili saw one of the hobbit's not-so subtle glances and beckoned him over. "Something you need, Frodo?"

He slowed down to walk next to the dwarf, leaving Sam beside Boromir, and kept pace with the Prince. "I just… I can see that you're still upset. I know that you want to stay with your brother, but..." Frodo began awkwardly, but Fili cut him off.

"That's not it." The Dwarf Prince's expression grew pinched, a crease appearing on his forehead as his teeth clenched in worry. His blue eyes flicked around the group, and his voice lowered. "I trust Gandalf. I do. But sometimes... I do not know if he can see the small picture."

Frodo did not understand what he meant in the slightest. The dwarf's tone... it was if he were speaking about a dignitary from a foreign land he did not like, rather than the friendly Wizard that showed off Fireworks in the Shire. The hobbit followed Fili's wandering gaze, looking from person to person in their small group. Just a group of seven out of what had once been fifteen, consisting of himself, Sam, Elladan, Fili, Eomer, Boromir, and Legolas...

Frodo was a hobbit. He had grown up in the Shire, but after its destruction he had traveled, seeing many things. Love and war, life and death, truth and deceit. Learning not to instantly trust what was on the surface had saved Frodo more times than he wanted to admit. He was not a battle-hardened warrior, or a great mastermind, but he had learned how to spot things, to see underneath the underneath. And what he saw now... what his mind instantly jumped to when he  _really_  thought about it...

"Gandalf would not do that." the hobbit responded on instinct.

"Wouldn't he?" Fili questioned him. "The Weapons are essential to stopping Iãgaw, as are the Wielders."

_Legolas is a Wielder. Boromir is the only one who knows where the Temple is._  Frodo's thoughts told him what he already knew. "Yes, but we have a greater chance of retrieving the Weapons with a larger group."

"Do we?" Fili asked in a rather strained and sarcastic voice. "Smaller groups go unnoticed more easily."

_Fili is the Crown Prince of a nation that Iãgaw has ignored, a realm that is more likely to survive the war and need an heir to the throne. Aragorn is a strong fighter, and is the heir to a realm that will most likely be decimated due to the foolishness of its current leader. He is also the one central to a prophecy that was overtaken by another, and what are the chances of the same man being in two prophecies?_

"But we have no one shielding us." Frodo argued. "We're out in the open."

The Dwarf Prince rose an eyebrow. "If you were the enemy, do you think the people with information you want would be with the Wizard, or just some warriors that are walking along their merry way, completely out in the open?"

When Frodo did not respond, Fili continued in that same, barely restrained tone. "Along with the Wizard are not one, but  _two_  Princes, and an elf, all exceptional fighters in their own right. Meanwhile, the exposed group has two elves that are currently not at their best. Almost like that group is meant to be a decoy." The corners of his bearded mouth twitched upward in a cold, pained smile. "Which group would you go after? Who would you hunt?"

_Eomer is one of the strongest warriors,_  Frodo's mind continued to inform him coldly.  _He would be able to protect Legolas or Boromir if necessary, and would, even with his caution about the former. The same with Elladan, although he intentionally chose the group that did not have his brother. Gimli is also a great fighter, and would only fight more fiercely because Merry and Pippin— people that need protecting in his mind— are there. Kili is a strong archer who would be able to help greatly if a small group were under assault. But he is second in line... and not as important in the large scale? That cannot be it._

"But what about..." Frodo began faintly.

_Sam and I... we aren't the strongest fighters, nor are we essential. Could it be sentimentality, or because I know Legolas's true identity and Sam is merely close to me? But Merry and Pippin... surely Gandalf would not..._

Fili's expression grew harsh, and Frodo was a little surprised they had not drawn the attention of the others yet. "Who. Would. You. Hunt."

The hobbit did not flinch, even as his expression clouded. "Gandalf would never sacrifice half the Fellowship to draw away the enemy." Frodo whispered the conclusion that had haunted him since he realized just why Legolas and Boromir may have been placed in the same group.

"Of course he would not." Fili agreed steadily. "But he just may be willing to use them as bait."


	8. Lurking Danger

Aragorn sat at the edge of the much-smaller Fellowship's camp, staring blankly into the dark trees around them. His watch was long over, but he made no move to wake Elrohir, who was meant to have the next shift. Sleeping was the last thing the Ranger wanted to do, even though tiredness pulled insistently at his limbs like a petulant child.

He knew that if he slept now, his dreams would be plagued by images of Erestor with a bloody hole in his chest, quietly asking him why he could not help him.

" _The Great Heir of Isildur, trained by Elrond himself, said to be able to perform miracles..."_  he'd whisper.  _"So why didn't you save me?"_

In the few days since the elf's passing, the nightmare had quickly become a familiar one. Aragorn sighed, rubbing his eyes as he glanced behind him at the dwindling fire in the center of the camp. A bed roll shifted behind him and Gimli sat up, turning to look at the Ranger with his features in shadow. Aragorn waved vaguely and turned away from the dwarf, not wanting to interact with others right then. Gimli grumbled behind him, bed roll rustling as he got up.

"Isn't your shift over, lad?" Gimli questioned, sitting beside the Ranger on the log.

Aragorn looked away from the dwarf, fiddling with his sword. "Yes, it is."

Gimli sat silently with him for a long while, looking out into the forest. Occasionally, he would glance at the Ranger, looking away just as quickly. His body shifted on the log, once, twice, and Aragorn wondered if the dwarf was uncomfortable or just antsy. Abruptly, Gimli sighed.

"Look, laddie... I honestly never thought I would have to say this to you..." the dwarf muttered. "But it's not your fault."

Aragorn stared at Gimli in confusion. "What?"

"Erestor's death is not your fault." the dwarf clarified. "Don't think I haven't noticed you wallowing in pity the past few days. There was nothing you could have done."

The Ranger's hands clenched as the dwarf said the cliche statement, torn between scoffing and looking away. All the man could think to say was "Is it that obvious?"

"That you blame yourself? Yes." Gimli stated. "Even Pippin and Merry have noticed. They came to me asking if you were all right, and if they should try to talk to you. I said I would for them."

"When was that?" Aragorn questioned.

The dwarf eyed him levelly. "You've been off in your own little world all day. We were talking almost right in front of you."

"Ah." the silver-eyed man choked.  _Was I really that oblivious?_

Gimli sighed, nudging Aragorn insistently with a finger. "I'm not one for eloquence. You need to talk to someone, lad. Now, before your guilt causes us trouble.  _Why_  are you shouldering the blame for what happened to Erestor?"

The dwarf was blunt and to the point, not one to beat around the bush. Aragorn was not sure if he appreciated his friend's directness or despised it. He knew better than to try to avoid Gimli's question, however.

The Ranger's silver gaze shifted to his hands. "I was the healer and the leader of the Fellowship. I should have—"

"—Known that a Shadowed Elf was going to appear out of nowhere to attack us?" Gimli interrupted. "Been able to find a magical cure to stop hemorrhaging? Or maybe stopped the arrow with your mind? Don't even try to say such things. You aren't an all-knowing entity, Aragorn. You're blaming yourself for things far out of your control."

"But I'm our strongest healer." Aragorn insisted miserably. "I was trained by Elrond, and am the Heir of Isildur. If I had athelas, or had focused more on spirit-healing... You're all counting on me to protect you as a leader and mend you as a healer. But I failed in both regards. I panicked like a child when Erestor w-was shot, and I couldn't think of a way to help him! I failed." he repeated miserably.

"So you blame Esgal then." Gimli stated. Before Aragorn could speak he continued relentlessly. "Or do you blame Gandalf? And your brothers? If you think  _you_  failed, you must think  _they_  did as well. Esgal is the one Erestor died for. You, your brothers, and Gandalf were the Healers trying to save him. If you are to blame, surely they shoulder some of it too?"

Shock quickly gave way to anger. "How can you say that?" he hissed. "There was no way that Leg— Esgal could dodge the Shadowed Elf's arrow, and the others did their best to save Erestor. Even Elrond would have been helpless!"

"Exactly." the dwarf said sternly. "Tell me then, why do you insist that  _you_  are the one responsible for his death? How could you have prevented it?"

Aragorn's mouth moved wordlessly but again Gimli did not give him time to speak.

"You're my friend." Gimli said bluntly. "So I know you are better than this. You're a leader. A warrior. I understand you lost a good elf, one who was like another father to you, but you cannot let your grief overtake your common sense. I've been watching you, you know. The fire in your eyes has gone out. You no longer walk with a purpose. Now you just wander around like a lost child."

Aragorn flinched.

"See?" Gimli challenged, seeing his guilty twitch. "Think about what you are  _doing_ , and what we are  _supposed_  to be here for. You're letting the guilt get to you. You are  _stronger_  than this, lad. You cannot lose yourself because of despair. Gandalf may be an insensitive fool at times, but in a way, he's right. We have to focus, or we'll just lose more of our allies. You can grieve, but do it when we aren't on the move, all right?"

The Ranger processed his friend's words for a long while, a new type of guilt creeping into his consciousness. He should have known better. He let his emotions override his common sense and leadership, in a way leaving the Fellowship more vulnerable than he ever would intentionally. What if they had been attacked while he was drowning in guilt and fear? He was a warrior, and he should know better than to let death—  _anyone's_  death— inhibit him.

"I guess I have been rather selfish, haven't I?" he murmured. "I apologize."

Gimli's sharp eyes scanned his face, the barest hint of a smile appearing. "No need for that, lad. I see you've gotten your priorities straight. Talking is not my normal approach to such things, and if I needed to smack you with the hilt of my axe to knock some sense into you, I would have."

Aragorn chuckled. "I'm glad you decided on the more peaceful way, my friend. It would not help anyone if they had to carry my unconscious body to the Temple."

"I wish Esgal was here as well, so I could whack some sense into him too." Gimli muttered. He ran his fingers through his beard, the appendages twitching with agitation. "Although I'm more worried about him  _ignoring_  his emotions than letting them drown him. Last I saw, he looked like someone bumping into him would result in a brutal murder."

The sobering part was, the Ranger was not sure if the dwarf was joking. Even he was not sure if Gimli's words were an offhand comment, or a statement of fact.

"Hopefully someone talks to Esgal for us." he said optimistically. "Or maybe our friendly assassin will help himself."

Gimli chuckled without humor. "For all their sakes, I hope you're right."

LOTRLOTRLOTR

The Light Spell was so noticeable, Amulug had to laugh out loud. The Wizard really was the worst type of fool. In this Darkened world, the Istar's Light Magic was like someone screaming at a funeral. Loud, abrasive, and drawing the attention of all who were near.

The Shadowed Elf shivered as he touched the aura-sensing power his Lord had given him once more, sensing the disgusting life-auras and Lights in the area around him with the ease of someone who had wielded such power all his life.

Amulug was greatly pleased and honored that his Lord had gifted him with such an ability so that he could track their enemies himself, without the Void's interference. After all, his Lord was above such mundane things as watching the Fellowship's movement. He had trusted Amulug to hunt the Fellowship and find the location of the Temple, and the Shadowed Elf was nearly bursting with joy as he went about his mission.

His excitement faltered slightly as he sensed six presences outside of the foolish Wizard's 'shielding' spell. Had the Fellowship broken in two? The obvious attempt to draw his forces away from the Istar amused Amulug, but the Shadowed Elf still took the time to study each aura closely. The Ranger was not in the decoy group. Amulug could not sense him. That meant he was with the Istar.

_Perfect. Mithrandir will be the one who knows the location of the Temple,_  the Shadowed Elf rationalized.  _And Aragorn just so happens to be with him... Excellent._

Amulug could not be happier. He would be following his Lord's commands,  _and_  he would be hunting the object of his hatred all at the same time. His Lord must have known that even if the Fellowship split apart, the Shadowed Elf's two targets would remain together. The Void knew everything after all, and would be certain that his loyal follower would be able to simultaneously please both Him and himself.

_If Aragorn was with the decoy Fellowship, what would I do?_

The thought came out of nowhere, appearing in Amulug's mind unannounced, but the Shadowed Elf shoved it away, letting the question fade. Such things did not even need to be considered. He could follow his Master's orders and get his revenge. He did not need to think about what he would have done if his own desires conflicted with the Void's.

But of course he would go to capture the Istar, anyway. He would ignore his desire for vengeance.

He would have.

Of course he would.

Again, Amulug shoved the useless train of thought away, shouting a command to his army.

"Scouts, go on ahead. The rest of you, form up and make haste. We hunt the Wizard!"

_And the Ranger._

LOTRLOTRLOTR

It was long after sundown when the other Fellowship stopped for the night. Eomer settled into the role as leader, calmly ordering the others to fulfill certain tasks to set up camp. It was only then when Frodo noticed that one of their number was missing.

"Where's Le— Esgal?" the hobbit asked, scanning the darkness around them and hoping the assassin was merely hiding in the shadows like normal.

The lack of appearance by the elf sent alarm bells through his comrades, but Fili optimistically kept from panicking just yet. "This is not the time for theatrics, Esgal! Come out!" he called cheerfully but with an undercurrent of fear.

There was no response.

Boromir gave a sharp curse, drawing his sword as his gaze raked the woods desperately. "When was the last time anyone saw him?"

"He was with us a few minutes ago." Sam offered, then tried to be more specific. "Mister Esgal was to our left, I think."

"It's just like him to wander off without telling anyone. It's like watching a child!" Eomer burst out, but quickly regained his composure. "We need to find Esgal as soon as possible. He's our sensor and our link with the other group. He can't leave when he feels like it!"

"I hear fighting less than a half-league to the north." Elladan mentioned tiredly, almost as if it were too much effort to speak. "Esgal might be there."

Frodo immediately sprinted in that direction, showing a recklessness the hobbit did not know he was capable of. Distant shouts and the sounds of battle slowly reached Frodo's ears, and he ran faster. The rest of the broken Fellowship followed suite, Eomer sharing words of caution even as they headed towards a potential fight.

"We cannot just run in there blind. Esgal is one of the—... important, so they may be trying to..." His voice faded away as they came upon the battle.

Bodies were strewn about like fallen leaves beneath the trees, the armor alone identifying them as Easterlings loyal to the Darkness. Each bore splatters of crimson blood that almost looked black in the darkness, the wounds they came from somehow looking more grotesque in the moonlight than they would during the day.

Frodo was no expert, but he could tell each strike was efficient, requiring minimum energy while guaranteeing an instant kill. A couple did not even have their weapons drawn, that alone proof enough that they had been ambushed by an expert killer.

The one who was capable of such cold finesse was currently fighting the last three Easterlings, though "fighting" was a rather untruthful term. "Massacre" was more accurate, because fighting insinuated that the Easterlings had a chance.

Frodo and the Fellowship watched, speechless, as Legolas slashed an Easterling's neck, blood spurting from the man's ripped throat. The assassin spun with an inhuman grace, stabbing both of his remaining attackers in the eyes, a shadow within shadows that struck without sadism or contempt but also without mercy or guilt.

The last Easterlings fell and joined their deceased comrades with an anticlimactic thud. The hobbit could not see Legolas's face as he turned towards them, walking forward with purpose to stand before his fellow travelers. His blades were dark with blood, and he said nothing.

Eomer found the resolve to speak first. "What are you doing here?"  _What have you done?_

"I sensed the Easterlings heading towards us and took care of them." the assassin said in the flat, emotionless tone Frodo was growing to despise.

His words seemed to reignite some of the man's ire and his jaw clenched. "So you went without telling anyone,  _alone_? The purpose of you sensing enemies is so you can tell us and we can  _avoid_  them!"

"I could handle the threat by myself." Esgal stated. "There was no need to involve you."

"That is not the point." Eomer said. "Doing this—" He gestured at the dead Easterlings. "—alone was stupid and  _selfish_! I know you are used to doing whatever you please, but we are a group, and there is a chain of command to uphold. You threatened our mission by leaving us without a sensor, or a way to tell the location of the other half of the Fellowship. What if you had gotten injured or died here, or if another group had ambushed us while you were away? You  _cannot_  just wander away and take out enemy forces without conferring with others, or at  _least_  me."

Legolas's head tipped the slightest bit and his eyes narrowed to slits. Frodo was chillingly reminded of a wolf eying a trapped rabbit. The assassin remained silent for a beat, and the hobbit could practically see the remarks he was holding back as the elf's dark eyes glinted coldly.

"I suppose I am selfish then." Legolas said at last. "I don't care about 'conferring with others'. I don't care about your leadership. I  _don't care_  about my 'purpose' in the Fellowship. If there is an enemy within my range that is a threat to this Fellowship, I will hunt it down without mercy and  _destroy_  it.  _No one_  will get close enough to harm any of you again."

He said it calmly, dismissively, almost serenely, but there was a hidden threat and hint of malice that chilled Frodo to his core. Legolas did not see anything wrong with his actions, but that mindset itself was not what truly bothered the hobbit.

Something was wrong, deeply so, and for a moment the hobbit wondered if his friend had lost himself to his own darkness at last. Not the Darkness that so many others were plagued by, but a more natural darkness, the one not even the elf could avoid.

Apathy.

Frodo knew that black eyes meant Legolas was cutting off his emotions. The hobbit knew it was either some type of training the assassin had gone through or a terrible side-effect, one he used to his advantage whenever he thought his emotions would get in the way of his ability to kill— and hopefully protect. But now Legolas was using this state as a shield, distancing himself from everything except his mission, thus becoming something Frodo did not like and most definitely was beginning to fear.

_I don't care._

Yes, Legolas  _did_. And that was the problem. He cared too much and wore his heart on his sleeve, and for him to be pushed to deny what was the core of his personality...? To deny the things that made him still able to call himself something more than a killer?

Frodo was not one to think ill of the dead, but he wished Erestor had died any way other than for Legolas. The guilt that the assassin was burying behind cold black eyes was going to tear him apart once he let it out. Legolas was going to lose himself, one way or the other unless Frodo figured out a way to help him without unleashing something terrible in the process.

But how could Frodo reach a friend to help him get over his guilt, when said friend did not care about anything important anymore?

LOTRLOTRLOTR

"They are ready."

Provadok turned his gaze away from the Void's highest-ranked man, slightly amused when Riagán started breathing once his cold hazel eyes shifted to Iãgaw. It was almost like the man knew that the assassin  _almost_  wanted to kill him, that Provadok felt like Riagán  _should_  be one of his 'Lights' but was not. But in the end, the Shade knew that killing the man would not make his feeling of wrongness cease, so he left him alone.

Still, it was entertaining to see Riagán twitch whenever the assassin caught his eye.

"What are you talking about?" Riagán asked bluntly, cold and arrogant once more now that he was no longer the center of Provadok's eerie attention.

"My Shades are finally ready to hunt, my friend." Iãgaw proclaimed as proudly as a parent whose child took their first steps. "They are ready to see the world and cover it in blood. That means I do not have to watch them so closely anymore, so I think it is time for you both to take some out and go have fun..."

Riagán frowned, but his expression soon cleared. "As long as I get to kill that Ranger by the end, I'll do what you want. What's the mission?"

Iãgaw smiled sweetly. "With all the attention Gondor has been receiving from my armies, I believe that Rohan is feeling neglected. We should give them some special treatment."

The smile abruptly vanished. "Or maybe they deserve punishment. Their King did not even evacuate the capital city and go to their stronghold. I don't think he sees me as a threat. I for one am  _deeply_  offended by this." The Void did not pout or sigh dramatically, and Provadok briefly wondered if the demon actually  _was_  offended by the King of Rohan's actions.

"Riagán, you will lead my army and a few of my little Shades to raze the city. Destroy everything, but let a couple of the ants escape. There needs to be people left alive in order for them to feel fear." The Void turned to Provadok, speaking in a light purr. "Provadok, my dear Shade. You will go to Edoras with my army, and you will kill Theoden and his son. I want to see what happens when Rohan loses its leaders."

The assassin's fingers twitched before his hand clenched into a fist. "The one I seek is not in Edoras." he stated flatly.

The demon's eyebrow quirked upward the slightest bit before he shot the assassin a disarming, chipper smile. "I am aware of that. But you have your orders."

Provadok briefly wondered if the Void was secretly angry about him questioning him. The demon's expression said no, but the assassin's instincts said yes. He decided that now was not the time to push the Void.

Hazel eyes met red before the man bowed his head. "As you wish."

"Good." Was Iãgaw's voice noticeably colder? "Prepare the army. You attack at dawn."


	9. Who I am Who I Was

It was oddly quiet in the Elvenking's home. Seeing as how it was past midnight, Glorfindel supposed he should not be surprised. Most people would be sleeping right now, but the Vanya could not seem to find solace in rest.

A feeling that something was wrong nagged at him, as it had for the past few days, and the golden-haired elf wondered if something terrible had happened out in the world. But no one else seemed to share his feeling, not even Galadriel, and Glorfindel could only dismiss the worry and feeling of loss as a side effect of the state of the world in general.

Glorfindel's feet carried him to the Mirkwood's Healing Hall, a place he found himself frequenting not for his own sake, but for another. Even without his loose promise to Legolas to watch over his family, the Balrog-Slayer still would have gone to check on Thranduil and his still-unconscious son.

The Elvenking was doing well for an elf whose family was either on a quest, on a goose-chase of a quest, unconscious, or running around Mirkwood making sure the refugees from the war were settling in nicely, all while running the last safe place in Middle-Earth. That did not mean the signs of strain were absent from Thranduil's visage, however.

It was odd, that Glorfindel saw the likeness between Thranduil and Legolas the most when the Elvenking was sleeping. He was thousands of years old, but laying with his head on Barhad's bed, eyes closed due to exhaustion, Thranduil looked so very, very young. Although when he thought about it many elves were 'young' when compared to the Balrog-Slayer, with Galadriel and her like being noteworthy exceptions.

Elrond hovered over the Elvenking, visibly torn between letting the tired monarch sleep and forcing him to occupy one of the beds in order to avoid the inevitable back pain he was going to wake up to. The former Lord of Rivendell spotted the Vanya and shrugged helplessly.

Acknowledging Elrond with a silent nod, Glorfindel walked over to the slumbering Elvenking, laying a hand on his shoulder and giving him a gentle shake. Thranduil gasped and sat up straight, body instinctively shifting to put himself between his son and the Vanya as his hand grasped his sword-hilt. Bleary blue eyes fixated on Glorfindel, and the Elvenking let his hand fall away from his weapon.

"Oh. It's only you." he said, sitting up and putting on a regal expression. "Is there something you need?"

The Balrog Slayer was not fooled by the Elvenking's calm facade. "I would like you to sleep in one of the available beds before Elrond here has a fit. I'd say he's been hovering for at least two hours based on his agitated expression." he said, partially teasing, partially serious.

Elrond's scowl and Thranduil's chuckle made the little joke worth it. The blue-eyed Sindar sat up, rubbing his eyes with a pale hand.

"I must look terrible if you are willing to let me sleep here. Normally you'd try to send me to my chambers."

"I know I'd fail to convince you." Elrond admitted. "You won't leave your child."

"Indeed." Thranduil stated, tired eyes drifting to Glorfindel. "As a result I'm afraid I've been rather lax in performing my royal duties as of the past few days."

"Aglar is still taking charge in your stead." the Vanya told him. "I'm certain the hobbits don't mind the Crown Prince coming to check on how their settlement is coming along instead of the King."

"Was that today?" the Elvenking asked.

"...Yesterday." Glorfindel admitted. "Don't worry. I meant it when I said the hobbits were all right with you being busy. I'm afraid that news of Prince Barhad's... illness has spread, but because they knew, the hobbits understood and were actually pleased that you prioritized your family over your duties."

"They truly are a wonderful people, hobbits." Thranduil murmured with a soft chuckle.

"Adar...?"

The faint, familiar voice caused all three elves to converge around the only filled bed in the room, in time to see Barhad open dazed hazel eyes. The Prince's gaze settled on his father and he smile tremulously.

"She's going to be all right, Adar." the twin reported, voice trembling with pure relief. "Wherever Bere is, she's healed and safe."

"Oh, thank the Valar." Thanduil breathed, giving his son a hug without caring about their audience. "You scared me, ionin. I thought I was going to lose you both."

"I apologize, Adar." Barhad murmured, surprised but also not about his father's burst of affection. The elf had become much more willing to show his love for his children after Legolas's return.

"Bereneth is all right then?" Elrond asked as he shooed Thranduil away to check his son's vitals. "Do you know about Megilag and Fael?"

"They're alive." Barhad said firmly. "Bereneth's mind was in turmoil about something, but it was not because our brothers were dead. I could tell that much, at least."

"I'm certain that if one of them was gone, we would be swarmed by the Void's forces by now." Glorfindel commented.

Thranduil gave him a look as if he were debating whether to glare at the Vanya or not, but the Balrog-Slayer shrugged without regret. He knew the Elvenking would not like the reminder that if his children died, the Sanctuary would fall, but the fact that it was still standing was firm evidence his children still lived.

This type of thinking made Glorfindel wonder if he has spent too much time with very-blunt Legolas.

The door to the wing opened and Nestor entered the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.

"Nestor." Elrond greeted the Mirkwood Healer without looking away from his patient.

The elf blinked slowly, squinting at the Elf Lord as if he were trying to see him in a dark room. "Lord Elrond." he mumbled belatedly.

Glorfindel frowned, noting the dark shadows beneath the Healer's eyes and the paleness of his skin. Nestor looked exhausted, as if he had not had a wink of sleep for weeks. In fact, he made Thranduil look like the image of perfectness and beauty in comparison. The Vanya frowned, then remembered that the poor Healer had been trying to work with the Fallen Elves imprisoned in the dungeons. The Balrog-Slayer winced, sympathy for the elf rising up within him.

"Elrond can do it." Nestor said suddenly. "Elrond's the best Healer." Nestor blinked again, gaze shifting to Thranduil. "I'm trying."

Sympathy was instantly squashed by wariness.

The Elvenking slowly moved to stand in front of the Healer, conveniently putting himself between the elf and Barhad. "Is something wrong, Nestor?"

Nestor seemed to struggle for a moment, mouth opening and closing rapidly.

"I need to go away." the Healer said at last.

Thranduil's entire body tensed. "What? Nestor, what is—"

"Shhh." Nestor hissed, focusing on breathing evenly.

His eyes flicked between Thranduil, Elrond, and Barhad repeatedly. Glorfindel took advantage of the fact that the Healer seemingly had not noticed him to circle around the elf, standing behind him and slightly to his left. The other three elves noticeably did not look in his direction.

"Quiet!" the Healer shouted abruptly, hands clapping over his ears. "I'm trying— I'm trying—"

Glorfindel's suspicions solidified and he mentally went over a few of the take-down moves Legolas had taught him.

"Everything is wrong." Nestor muttered almost conversationally. "It is all a lie. Don't you see?"

"Of course." Elrond said soothingly, hands raised in a peaceful gesture.

Nestor laughed, high and unhinged. "No you don't. I'm trying." he whispered to Thranduil, apologetic.

The Elvenking's expression was grave. "I know."

"I didn't know I ever— I didn't know I was— I know I'm wrong but it's not wrong but am I wrong?" the Healer rambled.

"Not going to!" Nestor snapped to the madness in his mind, expression twisted as if he were feeling physical pain.

Then his expression calmed, turning almost serene. "Everything's dark."

He lunged forward, a dagger slipping from his sleeve as he ignored the two people closest to him and went straight for Barhad.

Quick as lightning Glorfindel struck, grabbing the Fallen Elf from behind. Before he could struggle, the Balrog Slayer jabbed his fingers into a point on the elf's neck, pressing lightly. A relieved expression crossed Nestor's face before he went limp, crumpling like an abandoned puppet. The Vanya looked down at the unconscious Healer with pity.

Thranduil gave an enraged, helpless cry and put his head in his hands. "Not another one..."

The former Lord of Rivendell knelt beside the Fallen Elf, checking him for injury and taking away the dagger in his limp hand.

"Is there truly no way to tell if an elf is Fallen?" Elrond lamented. "None of the Fallen Elves have managed to kill anyone yet, but I will admit that I am tired of having to treat the wounds of elves who barely managed to defend themselves when they were attacked by their comrades."

"How many Fallen Elves have we found?" Barhad asked.

"Seventy-two." Thranduil spat the number like a curse. "All with varying degrees of sanity. Some, like Nestor, had enough state of mind to turn themselves in, but most are beyond reasoning with. Valar curse it!"

"We cannot let anyone know that Nestor tried to attack Barhad." Glorfindel said. "I could tell it was to give me the most time to stop him, since Barhad was the furthest elf from him, but others will see it as an assassination attempt at best, attempted sabotage of the Sanctuary at worst."

"I pray that the West truly will heal them all once we can find it once more." Elrond said sadly. "If not... we will be losing far more elves to the Darkness than we ever thought."

Sighing sadly, Glorfindel carefully picked up the unconscious Healer, feeling slightly hollow. "I'll put him with the others. Soon we're going to have to use the deeper dungeons. I think it would be best if we start putting plant life down below, if we can. There's no need to deprive them of nature if possible."

"I'll give out the order." Thranduil said heavily, his joy at finding out his children were all right tarred by the latest development. He patted his son on the arm and stood. "Even here the war never ends. It's time for me to start leading again."

Glancing back at the Elvenking's solemn, tired eyes, Glorfindel could only curse the darkness for being so cruel.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

It was boringly easy to get inside Edoras. Even easier to get inside the King's precious home.

"The enemy forces have already broken through the southern gate." one of the King of Rohan's men was saying. "But a majority of them appeared within the city. We're being pushed back, rapidly. Even the women and children are fighting now."

Provadok did not care about the man's words. He did not care about the forces, led by Riagán, that were currently decimating the Rohirrim and citizens of this city. All he cared about was the man dressed in armor, firm and strong before his people as he tried to strategist a way to stop the relentless assault against his capitol.

The King wore a helmet, but Provadok knew it would be of no consequence. A part of the assassin almost wished that the King had been in a small room, or at least one without accessible rafters, just so there was more of a challenge to kill the man but...

It did not matter. Provadok had his mission.

Theoden King would not die on the battlefield with his people.

From seemingly nowhere, an arrow appeared in Theoden's head, almost clean through the man's skull. The King fell forward onto the table, blood pooling around his head, and the warriors with him exploded into shocked shouts and movement. The fools did not expect any enemies to be close enough to be a threat to their leader. How naïve of them. By the time a few turned towards the spot in which the dagger had come, Prodovak was already gone.

How boring. How mind-numbingly easy.

The Prince was harder to find, though he would be easier to kill. Among the frantic chaos of battle, Provadok spotted his next target fighting off a Shadowed Elf, stabbing his enemy in the heart with his sword. In another time, the assassin may have been impressed by the man's skill. Now he just noted it as he approached from behind, silent and unnoticed in the thralls of the battle.

Theodred passed with a blade in his back, those around him quickly noticing their Prince's deaths and screaming in despair. None saw the one that killed him, however, all assuming another Shadowed Elf, orc, or evil man had slain their beloved Prince.

Provadok slipped away on the rooftops, passing by with apathy as men, women, and children all fought and died below him. He spotted Riagán savagely beheading three men with his metal-tipped whip. He ignored the man, who seemed to be enjoying himself for once, and continued on his way.

His mission was complete.

It was easy.

It was quick.

It was boring.

It was  _not_  satisfying.

Only one death would free Provadok from the wrongness he felt.

And if Iãgaw continued to keep him from seeking that Light...

Foreign feelings rose in Provadok, and as he ran over the battlefield he slowly was able to identify them.

Anger and frustration. He did not know he could feel such things anymore. It was... odd.  _Odd, but not wrong._  Or was it wrong?

His head hurt.

A shrill cry, barely heard above the chaos, caught his attention, and he glanced across the street at the source of the sound. A blonde-haired woman wielded her sword with the grace of one taught to do such things, but the awkwardness of one who had rarely been in a real battle. Beside her was a small child whose sword was almost bigger than he was. He wielded it clumsily, tears streaming down his cheeks, but continuing to stab at any enemies that tried to get past his protector.

Even from a distance, Provadok could see the child's bright blue eyes.

Memories tried to force their way into his consciousness, blurry and fragmented as they swam about his head. Provadok did not stumble but he did pause on the rooftop, watching the child desperately fight alongside the woman.

Thoughts jumbled and twisted, lurching and struggling, gradually forming words, but they did not make  _sense_.

_Blue eyes. Like my son. Not like my son. I had a son? Blue or Silver-blue? Both. I had two sons? I have a son still?_

His head hurt.

The woman stumbled.

The Shadowed Elf attacking them laughed.

The boy screamed.

And Provadok acted.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

_How could this happen?_

Eowyn, niece of Theoden, Shieldmaiden of Rohan, allowed herself a moment for the thought to form, then shoved it aside as she returned to battle, sword stabbing through an orc's head. She turned, blade plunging into a man's chest, then darted forward, slashing another enemy's throat.

This was wrong. So very, very wrong. Edoras was not the most well-defended city in Rohan, but it should not have been invaded so easily. Then again, walls could not defend against enemies that could appear from the shadows. Eowyn had been in the lower town when the orcs, Shadowed Elves, and evil men had materialized in her home, and it had not taken long for her to be forced to take a blade from a dead man and use it to defend herself.

The Shieldmaiden had once dreamed of battle, of glorious duels and honorable deaths while fighting for her country and King. War was nothing like her dreams. Men died screaming. Women died defenseless. Children were not spared.

Eowyn decided that she would probably cry-panic-scream later, but she could not now.  _Not now_. There were people she had to try to defend and save. She had no armor, and her long dress was only hindering her further, but she  _would_ fight for her home.

The Shieldmaiden stood between two fleeing civilians and a pursuing orc, sweeping her blade upward and slashing through the creature's armor like paper. A small figure that was almost dwarfed by the men and orcs around him caught her eye, and on instinct Eowyn charged towards the child, striking any in her way with the ferocity of a bear.

The boy was struggling to hold off a fully-grown man, who laughed at the child as he stabbed at him with his sword. Not intending to kill, only to strike fear in his prey before finishing him off. Rage gave the Shieldmaiden strength and she leapt forward, slaying the boy's attacker with a strong stab through his back.

The man fell, a stunned expression on his face, and Eowyn turned briefly to the child, pulling him close to her. The boy did not resist, looking up at the Shieldmaiden with hopeful, terrified eyes, as if she were a Valar sent to Middle-earth to save him. The expression made Eowyn's stomach twist uncomfortably.

"It's going to be all right, little one." she tried to soothe him. "Don't worry. I will protect you."

 _Do not make a promise you cannot keep_ , her mind snarled at her.

The Shieldmaiden ignored it and continued fighting. Block, stab, turn. Block, parry, thrust.

A Shadowed Elf fell before her, followed by a man, then an orc, but the sea of enemies continued to churn around her. An army was within the walls of Edoras, and Eowyn began to wonder the wave would cease, or if the horde of enemies would continue on forever.

With a defiant yell she beheaded another orc, light on her feet and constantly moving as she fought for herself and the child that almost clung to her side. More orcs fell before her. More men. A Shadowed Elf. It seemed as if there were no allies for her nearby, and even without the added weight of armor to burden her, Eowyn was beginning to tire.

Stab, stab, turn, slash, block, thrust.

 _A little longer_ , Eowyn told herself.  _Just last a little longer._

There was nowhere to rest, nowhere to run, nowhere left that could be called safe. The enemy was everywhere, and the Rohirrim were barely able to keep them from overwhelming the natives completely.

Parry, thrust, slash, block, block, stab.

 _Are we going to die here?_  She wondered.

Eowyn stumbled at last, tripping over her dirty— impractical,  _useless_ — dress and falling to her knees, with her unbound hair falling over her eyes. She flinched, expecting one of the many enemies around her to strike her down.

"No!" the voice was desperate, afraid, and far, far too young.

Pushing her hair out of her face, her heart skipped a beat when she spotted the one that had come between her and certain death. It was the child who shakily stood between her and a Shadowed Elf, the cruel immortal being looking down at him with open amusement.

"Are you going to fight me, little warrior?" he mocked, a slow, sadistic grin appearing on his face.

The child hiccupped, lifting his sword with visible effort. The sword tip trembled. The Shadowed Elf stepped forward, jabbing in the boy's general direction, and the child gave a panicked scream. He cackled, drawing closer once more... and froze. A puzzled look crossed the Shadowed Elf's face and he gave a gurgling sound, blood bubbling from his lips. Abruptly he collapsed, an arrow sticking out of his back.

Stunned, Eowyn looked up at the rooftops from which the arrow had flown, just able to make out a dark-clothed figure outlined by the sun. The blonde Shieldmaiden could not see the eyes beneath that dark hood, but she knew as she stared at him that he was looking right back. The bow in his hand lowered and he tipped his head, indicating the trembling child at her side.

No words passed between them, but instinctively Eowyn knew the message being said. The archer had saved the child, not her. So she had  _better_  keep him safe.

Determined, Eowyn stabbed another orc, spinning to behead the man that had been sneaking up behind her. The boy stayed at her side, stabbing when he could with a strength born of desperation. When Eowyn could look at the rooftop again, the mysterious archer was long gone.

Her silent promise to him, the child beside her, and herself lingered.

So Eowyn kept fighting.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Sam did not want Elladan to get into trouble. He had seen how Eomer had reacted when Esgal had wandered off last night after they'd stopped, but surely Elladan was not going to fight anyone, right? The elf was not a 'sensor' like Esgal, so he would not even know where enemies were, correct?

The hobbit nervously followed Elladan through the sun-kissed woods, aware that the Son of Elrond probably knew that he was stalking him and wondering if the elf was amused by it. He might think it was funny, a hobbit trying to secretly follow an elf.

The twin looked like he could use a laugh, even if it was at Sam's expense. He was pale, with dark patches under his eyes, and although the hobbit was nowhere near familiar with his kind, the elf's glow looked dimmer.

Sam dithered and stumbled after Elladan— who must surely know that he was there by now— biting his lip nervously, but also too nervous to approach Elladan to see what was he was doing. The elves would be friendly and teasing, the dwarves would be confrontational and blunt, but Sam was not confident enough to go out and ask the elf where he was going.

Elladan stopped some distance away from where the Fellowship had spread out to hunt and rest. He sat beneath a tree that was bathed in peeking sunlight, leaning against the bark and laying his hands over his chest. Feeling awkward, Sam peered at him through the foliage.

 _I'm being a right old creep, that I am_ , the hobbit thought unhappily. If only he was brave enough to—

"I know you're there, Sam." Elladan said, barely loud enough for the gardener to hear.

Sam jumped, blushing, and stumbled out of the foliage with the grace of a newborn foal. "I— uh. Hello." he stammered lamely, his shame and embarrassment growing by the second.

"Hello, Sam." the elf greeted him quietly with no teasing in his tone, not moving from his spot leaning against the tree. "Is everything all right?"

"Er, yes." Sam said. "I mean, as far as I know, yes. I didn't tell anyone I left the area. Or that you did."

"Thanks for that." Elladan breathed. "I... need some time alone."

Sam shifted awkwardly. "Oh. I'm sorry for intruding then. Would you like me to leave?"

"I... don't know." The elf's reply was so soft, Sam almost thought he did not hear anything.

The hobbit eyed the twin worriedly, something nagging at the back of his mind. He cast his thoughts backwards, struggling to remember what Frodo had told him about elves... and grief? It made sense that Elladan was grieving. Erestor was his mentor, maybe as good as family to him. And he had passed away right in front of the poor elf...

Memory struck with the harshness of a lightning bolt, and Sam stiffened with fear. The pale skin. The dimming glow. The weakness, the distant attitude, staying away from his brother, the  _hopelessness_  in his eyes...

Elladan was fading.

Sam was not the most knowledgeable about elves, but he knew that was what was happening to the twin. How could the others not notice? Had they forgotten that elves could fade?

 _I don't know what to do. What do I do?_  Sam thought, paralyzed by fear.  _What do I say? Is there anything I can say? How do I stop this?!_

_I need help._

"I-I'll be right back." Sam said, backing away quickly.

Elladan did not respond. Terrified, Sam turned on his heel and ran as fast as he could. He had to get the elf help,  _quickly_.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

 _No threats detected within my range_ , the assassin thought as he walked swiftly beneath the trees. _Still, I need to be ready. Enemies can appear in a second._

Legolas was on another unauthorized patrol, moving quickly through the woods surrounding the Fellowship's newest location. If he had allowed himself to feel such emotions at that moment, he may have been patrolling out of spite for the nephew of the King of Rohan. Normally, he would most likely be a little angry at the man for trying to control him and attempting to give him orders, but in his current state he was merely irritated. Icily, distantly irritated. And also wondering how much backlash there would be if he stabbed the man in the eye.

A tiny part of the assassin tried to tell him that these thoughts were destructive, disturbing, and unhealthy, but Legolas did not care. He acknowledged that in his normal state of mind, he would never even consider hurting one of his comrades, but the man was being an annoyance. And annoyances should be avoided or taken out, lest they interfere with the integrity of his apathy. Besides, it did not matter. He would not let emotions control him in any way. He would not let anything get in the way of him completing his mission.

A quickly-moving aura caught Legolas's attention and he paused, focusing on it. It was Baggin's friend's aura, the hobbit of the family Gamgee. Gardeners, servants of the Baggins family, not warriors. Minimum threat.

Gamgee's aura flared with panic, fear and urgency in his every step. The assassin could not sense any malicious auras near the hobbit, nor any large animals that may be threatening him. However, there must be a reason for Gamgee's distress, so the assassin headed towards him.

Gamgee squeaked and tripped over his own feet when Legolas seemingly materialized next to him, appearing from beneath the trees like a spirit. He recovered instantly, and the assassin distantly approved of the hobbit's resilience.

"Esgal!" the sandy-haired hobbit called, relieved to find the elf. "You need to come with me. Hurry!"

Wary and ready to fight, Legolas followed Gamgee as he raced back the way he had come like a fleeing rabbit.

"What is wrong?" the dark-eyed assassin asked, deciding that was the correct phrasing to query about any immediate threats.

"It's Mister Elladan. I think he's fading!" Gamgee gasped, almost out of breath. "You have to help him!"

The hobbit continued to babble, and Legolas listened with half an ear, considering his plight. He had already known the elder of the Sons of Elrond was fading, but for it to happen this quickly? He must have been closer to the scholar— something painful shot through the assassin's chest but he ignored it— than Legolas thought. He supposed it might have to do with the fact that those that should be paying attention to such things— primarily Gandalf and Aragorn— had not noticed the Son of Elrond's fading. And they, along with the other Son of Elrond, were now in the other group, so Legolas supposed it was no longer their problem.

The assassin felt no concern for the dark-haired twin himself, instead considering his place in the Fellowship and whether his demise would negatively affect their mission. The twin was not a Wielder because the elven person in the prophecy referred to the assassin himself. He was, however, the way that the two parts of the Fellowship were communicating, through use of his telepathic connection with the other Son of Elrond.

Thinking back, Legolas could not pinpoint a time when the twin had shared information he had gotten from his brother with the Fellowship, and the closed off, guarded state of his aura revealed that he was blocking his sibling from his mind. Apparently the Elrondion was not doing his job.

Legolas thought about the older Elrondion's bond with the younger, wondering if the elder's death would cause the younger to fade as well. That would cost the other group their sensor, but there was not an absolute chance of the younger fading if his brother did, right?

If they did both fade, the assassin could lead their half of the Fellowship to the other group and reunite them if need be. With two less people in their group, it would be more efficient to come back together in case of further attacks from the enemy.

There was no emotion in Legolas's thought process. No connections were present to make him see how feelings would affect the outcome he predicted. The assassin simply did not care, and his logic was as cold as ice.

And so the elf halted in his tracks, turned to the panicking hobbit, and said, "That is not my concern."

Sam's jaw dropped and he stopped speaking, staring at Legolas as if he had just killed a baby bird. "Wh-What? How can you say that? Mister Elladan needs help!"

"What do you expect me to do?" Legolas asked coolly. "Not even a healer as powerful as Lord Elrond can stop an elf from fading."

"But— But—" Gamgee stammered, bright eyes nervous as they locked with the assassin's cold gaze. The hobbit swallowed and drew himself up to his full insignificant height. "Elladan is your friend. You'll regret it if you don't at least  _try_  to help him."

Using emotions and bonds to try to get the assassin to help in his current was useless, but the hobbit was not one to give up without attempting to reach the elf's imprisoned humanity.

"What is causing the Elrondion to fade is something within him that cannot be killed with a blade." Legolas stated with icy logic. "There is nothing I can do for him."

"That's not true!" Gamgee protested. "Friends and family can help people get over grief. They can help those that are feeling... down to feel better. Mister Elladan feels alone right now, like he has nothing to li— stay for, but if we show him he has people that care for him, maybe we can help him. Maybe  _you_  can. None of the people in the Fellowship are closer to him than you, 'cause Strider and his brother are in the other group..."

 _Is the hobbit trying to manipulate me into helping?_  The assassin's icy mind mused.  _No, he isn't that underhanded._

"You are distracting me from my mission." the assassin merely stated. "This is a waste of my time."

He turned away from the hobbit and the fading light he could sense in the distance. The hobbit gave a small, desperate sob.

"Legolas, please!" Sam begged.

The assassin whirled around to face him, pinning the hobbit with a harsh stare. Sam flinched visibly, almost trembling in his boots, but stayed firm.

"That— That  _is_  your real name, isn't it?" the hobbit stammered. "I heard Mister Frodo say it when Mister Erestor was..." He bit his lip. "I know that you care about Mister Elladan a lot Mis— … Legolas. I know how much you hurt when you lose people. I've lost people too, and I know that if I could go back and find a way to help them, to be there for them... I would do it in a heartbeat. You— You couldn't save Mister Erestor, but maybe you can save your friend. Please, at least try."

The assassin stared at the small, determined person in front of him in silence for a long moment. Unbidden, a thought crept into his mind, a whisper softer than a breath of wind.

_I would have done anything to save Erestor... and Ciaran. Surely I can at least try..._

"All right." Legolas agreed steadily. "I will attempt to stop the Elrondion from fading."

"Elladan." Sam insisted softly as they continued to run to the fading twin. "Your friend."

" _Mellonin._ " the assassin murmured.

They came upon the brightly-lit clearing, the sunlight easily finding its way through the treetops to paint the world with a soft golden glow. Leaves drifted gently around the pale, still form laying against one tree trunk, the elf not seeming to notice as they brushed against his skin. Gamgee gave a nervous gasp, and Legolas instinctively patted him on the shoulder.

"He's still alive." he murmured quietly, and approached the Son of Elrond.

The elf opened his eyes slightly as the assassin approached. "...Esgal..." he mumbled. "Hello."

"Greetings to you as well." Legolas said awkwardly, something struggling to break free of his grip on his emotions. Curious, he let it out, and was struck by a wave of nervousness and fear.

 _My friend is_ _ **dying!**_  his mind screamed, able to fully think such a thing at last.

 _He_ _ **is**_ _my friend_ , Legolas affirmed to himself.  _And I was so dedicated to denying my own grief I did not notice his. No, I noticed. I just did not_ _ **care**_ _. Ciaran taught me how to be logical, to suppress my emotions, but to bury them so deeply that a friend's potential death did not_ _ **matter**_ _to me… I did not know I could be so callous._

Guilt, fear, sadness, worry, and regret threatened to engulf the assassin but he pushed the emotions back. Not blocking them again, but not allowing them to overcome him either. Breaking down or panicking would not help Elladan. Legolas sat beside the dark-haired elf, who turned his head, smiling self-deprecatingly at the assassin.

"I'm so pathetic, aren't I? I did not come close to fading when my mother was hurt and had to go West, but here I am, letting myself fall because my t-teacher was killed."

"But Erestor was more than a teacher, was he not?" Legolas guessed. "He was like family to you."

"Yes." Elladan admitted. "He and Glorfindel were almost honorary uncles. He was family in everything but blood. " The elf shuddered, teeth clenching as his eyes squeezed shut. "I— I didn't think fading would hurt so much. It's like claws are ripping through my chest..."

"I know the feeling." Legolas shared with him. "I almost faded when Ciaran died."

The grief was old and distant, joined by a new, sharper grief, but rather than be overwhelmed, the assassin found that he was glad that he was able to still feel such things.

"But you're still here." Elladan stated the obvious, blinking up at the sky with dim silver eyes. "I guess you're stronger than me, then."

"I just found something to live for and the determination to live for myself." Legolas told him firmly.

"Hmm. I tried that, I think." the dark-haired elf's brow furrowed the slightest bit, as if he were unsure that he were telling the truth. "I tried for my father, my sister, my brother..." He gave a tiny, pained laugh. "I tried so hard for Elrohir. I am going to drag him with me to the afterlife, you know. There's no way that my brother won't fade after me. We're too close."

Legolas wanted to say things that would encourage Elladan to hold on, that would give him strength, but he knew that the elf had already told those things to himself to no avail.

"Your eyes are purple again." the twin commented vaguely. "That's good. I was worried."

"So was I." Legolas acknowledged, feeling another small twinge.

Elladan let himself fall sideways until his head rested on the assassin's shoulder, the coldness of his skin startling the younger elf. Legolas stayed still and stable, keeping them both upright even as his instincts whimpered uncomfortably at the close contact. Seeing Ellasan's arm next to his, the assassin was disturbed to see that even he— without an elf's glow— looked absolutely luminous compared to his friend. Dull silver eyes looked up at the bright sun, and a ghost of a smile appeared on the twin's face.

"This is such a beautiful place. I never expected to find something like this in Rhun. I guess it'd be as good a place as any..." He trailed off, close to apologetic as his eyes flicked lethargically to Sam, who stood like a worried spectator, concerned but unwilling to participate in the delicate conversation before him.

 _...to die,_  was left unsaid.

It struck the assassin then, that the twin had accepted his approaching death. Truly, wholly accepted it.

Legolas did  _not_.

Twice before a person he cared for had died in front of him. He was  _not_  going to let it happen a third time.

"I can't let you do this." the assassin stated. "I can't let you give up and fade away."

"What are you going to do to stop me?" Elladan asked gently, as if he were speaking to a naive child.

The assassin's mind went through a plethora of plans and actions, both emotional and logical, debating on the chances of each working before casting them aside. One course of action sat prettily and menacingly at the forefront of his mind, but he dismissed it for the moment, only willing to use such measures as a last resort.

"I don't know. But you're my  _friend_. I won't let you go."

Elladan's laugh was humorless and faint. "Sorry, Esgal. It doesn't work like that."

"Legolas. My real name is Legolas." the assassin informed him freely. He did not know whether he said it because maybe, just maybe curiosity would help his friend hold on, or because he wanted him to know the truth if he...

"Legolas?" Elladan murmured, eyes opening with great effort. "Thranduil's son... Does he know?"

"Yes, he does. He's waiting for me to come home." Legolas told him. "So does Glorfindel. It's yet another thing he didn't tell you."

"How dare he." the Elrondion whispered, though the violet-eyed elf could tell his heart was not in the joke. Elladan's face crumpled with despair. "Glorfindel is going to be really upset, isn't h-he?"

Elladan choked suddenly, back arching as his hands clenched. Legolas shifted, holding the elf steady as he shuddered with grief and strain.

"It— It's my fault." the elf wheezed, revealing the depths of his self-loathing. "Couldn't heal Erestor. Couldn't protect him. Ha ha..."

Legolas did not know why Elladan was laughing a horrible, off-putting laugh, and decided he did not want to. The silver-eyed elf was torn between fading and breaking, and the assassin realized he was not the only one who had been hiding their pain and emotions behind a thick mask. Or had he been showing his guilt all along, and no one noticed?

Elladan was going to fade. He was going to give up and die soon. Legolas could not let that happen. There was no more time to try a gentle approach.

 _My darkness is apathy. It is emotionless logic._  The assassin thought.  _It's about time I use that to my advantage._

Legolas let his mindset shift, but it was less like a takeover and more like a change from using a bow to a blade. He put his emotions on hold in the way Ciaran intended, staying aware of who his friends were, who he cared for, while also putting aside his personal qualms in order to do what must be done.

_Feelings and friendships do and do not matter in this instance. I am an assassin, I am an actor, I am a comrade, I am a friend. I will do what I must to save him._

Unknown to the assassin, his eyes did not change colors, remaining a vibrant when he spoke in a cold, apathetic voice, Elladan and Sam were more than surprised.

"Very well then."

Legolas stood, leaning Elladan more securely against the tree, and turned on his heel.

"Where are you going?" Sam spluttered desperately. "You can't just leave!"

The assassin kept his face blank as he looked back at the two. "I'm not going to sit here and watch another person die.  _It's a waste of my time_."

The familiar words sent chills down Sam's spine, and Legolas could see him staring disbelievingly into the elf's eyes. The next part was going to hurt to say, but the assassin could do it for his friend. If Elladan did not cease fading for this, then nothing would save him.

_Sorry, mellonin._

"You're nothing but a liability now." the assassin condemned the Son of Elrond. "And soon your brother will be as well."

There. In Elladan's eyes, Legolas saw a spark of life. Now to fully ignite it into a flame.

"If you insist on taking your brother with you, I may as well speed up the process. In a state like yours, he will only interfere with—"

Elladan was an intelligent elf, and even in his current state, he immediately knew what the assassin meant. The violet-eyed elf saw the twin's aura shift from a weak light into a roaring sun, the twin springing to his feet and lunging for the assassin.

"I won't let you—!"

Legolas casually caught Elladan's fist, smiling slightly when he noticed the strength the elf used as he tried to pull away. The twin saw the grin and snarled, struggling against the assassin's grip. His vigor was not fully back yet— it might not be for a while— and the violet-eyed elf held him in a restraining hold easily.

"You—!" the Son of Elrond hissed.

"Calm down." Legolas told him. "I didn't mean it."

Sam, who had been frozen with a look of helpless terror on his face, too afraid to approach, sighed in relief. Elladan stopped fighting him, looking at the assassin to see the sad, apologetic look on his face.

"You were fading too rapidly, and you'd already given up. I couldn't let you die, and I knew that if you didn't want to live to protect Elrohir, you wouldn't live for anything." the assassin explained softly. "I apologize for frightening you."

"I— You— I—" Elladan stammered. The twin sat on the ground heavily, head in his hands. "I don't know if I'm angry or grateful."

"I know that you are aware that I would never hurt my comrades." Legolas stated. "But I also knew that a part of you were… concerned about my black-eyed self. I was too, as a matter of fact. I'll admit I was slightly... murderous in that state, but I  _never_  acted upon those errant thoughts. Even at my most cold, I will never hurt the people I care about. And don't worry. I won't lose myself to apathy again."

 _It's about time I accept my 'darkness' and use it to fight real Darkness_ , he thought.  _If I have a skill I can use to ensure our victory, I_ _ **will**_ _use it._   _As_ _ **myself**_ _._

Elladan stayed quiet for a moment, gazing up at the gold-tinted leaves. He let loose a heavy sigh, shaking his head slowly. "It still hurts. I'm not... better."

"You are  _better_." Legolas said strongly. "But that does not mean you are  _healed_. And you shouldn't be. You just need to grieve. We... We both need to."

The twin looked at the assassin, at the sadness and hope in his violet eyes and the desperate need to share his thoughts with someone.

 _I'm not the only one who's been suffering, and I don't need to suffer alone_ , he thought.

"We still have time before we need to return to the others." the twin said. "Sam, come join us. I think we all need to talk." Just for a moment, before they had to return to their mission. A mission they just might be able to focus on now.

As the relieved hobbit walked over to sit beside the two elves beneath the trees, the twin spoke softly in Legolas's ear.

"You know, you can be really scary sometimes, Legolas." Elladan commented.

The assassin smiled at the truthfulness of the statement, violet eyes glinting. "So I've been told."


	10. Mistakes

Legolas, Elladan, and Sam reunited seamlessly with the rest of their companions, who were already prepared to move on. They all noticed Legolas's purple eyes and Elladan's healthier complexion immediately but said nothing, though the mood was much more cheerful as they continued forward. The three did not mention what had transpired in the woods, and none of their companions pressed them for answers, a wordless understanding passing between them all.

Their trek was mostly silent, with only the crunching of dirt and leaves beneath their feet and their soft breathes breaking the tranquil peace, but the quiet was no longer uncomfortable, nor heavy with regret. Even the forest itself seemed brighter, wisps of sunlight peeking through the thick canopy above them. Occasionally, Frodo, Sam, or even Elladan and Fili would adjust their straightforward gait in order to pass through the golden speckles the light cast across the ground, swerving back and forth as if they were walking on a winding path.

Legolas waited a short while before stepping in beside Eomer, memories of his other attempts to speak with the man fresh in his mind. The man glanced at him, opened his mouth, then decided against saying what he was going to and shut it, staring straight ahead intensely. The assassin bit his lip guiltily. He guessed that the man most likely felt anything he said was useless and would be ignored by the elf beside him.

Before he could attempt to speak to the blonde-haired man, Boromir stopped walking, peering up the trunk of a thick oak with branches that started just above his head.

"Esgal, can you help me climb this tree?" the Gondorian asked, seemingly at random.

The elf gave the man of Gondor a perplexed look before leaping into a branch above him and offering his hand. Boromir clambered semi-gracefully up the trunk with the assassin's help, until both their heads poked above the foliage. As proven by the spots of sunlight below, it was a surprisingly sunny day for a country claimed to be the "Darklands". For once the sky was blue, instead of the dreary gray mass that Legolas had slowly gotten used to. Boromir's sharp eyes looked east and he smiled, pointing at the large black shape that stood out on the horizon.

"That is the mountain the Temple is located on." he told the assassin.

Legolas's eyebrows rose. "Really? I did not know we were so close."

"It will take longer than you think to reach the mountain because of the terrain, but Erestor—" There was a slight wince in his voice as he spoke the scholar's name. "— told me that we would be able to see the mountain on a clear day like this."

Legolas glanced sidelong at the man, wondering why he was sharing this with him. Other than Boromir, none knew exactly where the Temple was, only that it was on a mountain. Before then, the assassin had been assuming the place where the Black Weapons was hidden was in the Red Mountains. To know they were so much closer to their destination... It was heartening to say the least.

The elf pushed away the ever-lingering thought that every day they traveled was another day that the people back home were dying, focusing firmly on the positive that they were almost there. The only thing that stood in their way was the green forest...

"Oh dear." Legolas murmured, frowning at the black scar that stretched across the land north to south, as far as the eye could see.

Boromir followed his gaze. "Are those Shadowed Trees?" he asked incredulously. "I thought they only existed in Mirkwood and Mordor."

"This realm is called the Darklands for a reason." the assassin murmured. "In hindsight, I'm surprised we haven't passed through a Dark forest yet."

The man hummed vaguely. "Do you think that there could be a Dark Fortress like Dol Guldor in there that is causing all that?" he queried, gesturing at the black area as a whole.

"Perhaps." the elf replied. "If there is one, we should do our best to avoid it."

The assassin carefully helped the man back down to earth, landing lightly. He heard Fili breath a sigh of relief. Apparently he was as anxious about Boromir being in a tree as he would be if he himself were so far off the ground.

 _He's almost as bad as Gimli when it comes to heights_ , the assassin thought fondly, even as a part of him missed his close friend.  _When dealing with trees, that is. Why is it that dwarves are perfectly happy dangling over chasms in caves, but putting them up a tree makes them run like a Balrog's on their tail?_

Legolas smirked at the Prince of Erebor, eyes glinting mischievously. "Was that a disappointed sigh I just heard? Would you like to go into the treetops as well, Fili?" He asked in his sweetest voice.

The dwarf backed up a couple steps, out of the elf's reach. "No. This dwarf is staying on the ground."

"I estimate that we will reach the Temple in five to ten days." Boromir informed the group, interrupting before Legolas could continue to tease Fili.

"Really?" Frodo asked. "That's not very long."

"But," Legolas broke in, cutting off the Fellowship's excitement. "There's a section of Shadowed Trees between us and our destination."

"Can we go around them?" Fili asked, knowing how dangerous trees tainted by Darkness could be.

Bormir shook his head. "We could walk for days and not reach the end of their territory. In order to reach the Temple quickly, we'll have to go straight through."

Eomer's unhappiness was clearly visible on his face. "It seems we have little choice then. How dangerous do you think it will be for us?"

To Legolas's surprise, the Marshall directed the question at him. "It depends." the assassin said honestly. "I may be able to convince the trees to let us pass, but I doubt they will be as willing to listen as the ones in Mirkwood. Those trees knew me since I was an elfling. If these Shadowed Trees refuse to bargain, however... We'll have a fight on our hands."

Eomer studied the elf for a moment before nodding sharply. "Then let's carry on. There's still plenty of daylight left."

The Fellowship made their way beneath the trees with a spring in their steps that had been absent for quite some time. Even though they knew they were heading towards danger, the knowledge that they were so close to their goal lightened the hearts of the weary travellers.

Legolas walked beside Eomer once more, keeping pace with him as the man tried to hurry ahead. The assassin did not let him scurry away, speaking up once there was a noticeable distance between them and the others.

"I apologize for my behavior the past few days." Legolas said sincerely, making the man's steps slow. "I would like to claim that I was not myself, but I was the one who allowed myself to sink into such a... cold mentality, and I will not shift the blame onto anything but myself. I was selfish and ignored your orders, and I could have put this Company in danger because of it. I assure you, the source of my problem has been dealt with. It will not happen again."

Eomer walked in silence for a few moments before responding. "I accept your apology. I'll admit that I was partially at fault. I had a feeling that your apathy and... disobedience was how you dealt with grief, but I am the Marshal of the Mark. I am used to my orders being obeyed. I feel that I do have a right to make you follow my commands in the interest of this Fellowship, but you also have the justification to act without my permission. I am not an undisputed leader, and the Company is not an army."

"That being said... I was— I still  _am_ — wary of you. The years have not allowed me to be able to easily trust that use— that  _appear_  to use some type of Dark power." He held up a hand to stall Legolas's response. "I know that your abilities are not born from Darkness. I trust Aragorn and Gandalf's judgment... and your own word, to an extent."

"But I have fought Shadowed Elves. I've seen villages torn apart by unnatural powers that should not exist. And that wariness, that  _fear_ , is difficult to overcome, and it made me act in a manner unbecoming of your technical leader and comrade. I cannot trust you fully yet, and I am sorry about that, but I will do my best not to let it interfere with my leadership of you, and this Fellowship from now on."

Legolas acknowledged the man's words with a nod, his respect for the blonde-haired Rohirrim rising slightly. Most men would not tell of their misgivings so openly to the one they considered a threat, and the assassin considered Eomer's transparency as the man's first attempt to bridge the gap between himself and his ally. Lesser beings would not even attempt to change their ways, so the assassin appreciated the man's willingness to give him a chance.

"Thank you." the elf said.

Eomer dipped his head, and moved on to more relevant matters. "Where are the others in comparison to us?"

Legolas pinpointed Elrohir and his group immediately, so used to their presences that he could sense them when half asleep. "They are half a league to the South-West of us."

"They're slightly behind?" Frodo asked. "Should we slow down?"

"That's unnecessary." Boromir informed the hobbit. "I'm the one who knows where the Temple is, so they technically have to follow us through..." He paused, trying to think of a word to describe what they were doing. "... the magic connection thing." His expression shifted into one of amusement and puzzlement as he processed what he just said.

Legolas hummed vaguely and cast his sense out further, something brushing at the edge of his range. He blinked, frowned, and attempted to extend his area of aura-sensing. Everything blurred for a moment as a sharp pain ripped through his head and he winced, stumbling slightly. His sixth sense retreated inward rapidly, cringing like a hurt child, before extending slightly once more. Eomer's hands wrapped around Legolas's arm, steadying him.

"I'm all right." the assassin said instinctively, rubbing his forehead as he pulled his sixth sense back. "I tried to feel too far. It happens sometimes." He winced again as the pain his head scolded him for his actions. "I should know better by now. Ciaran always told me not to strain myself."

"Then don't do it again." Eomer commanded, but the elf could hear light teasing in his tone. "The last thing we need is for our sensor to collapse because of a little headache." His expression grew more solemn. "Will there be any side effects?"

Legolas hesitated, then asked. "Do I have blood coming from my nose?" When they shook their heads negatively, he breathed a sigh of relief. "I just won't bee able to sense as far for a few hours." the assassin informed him, concentrating despite the headache. "Right now, I barely have the other group in my range."

"What would happen if you were bleeding?" Sam piped up nervously.

The assassin shrugged dismissively. "I'd fall unconscious for a couple of hours. It's happened before... but I was still fine." He added hastily as the hobbit gave him an alarmed glance.

"You could be missing an arm and claim to be 'fine'" Fili muttered, only half joking.

Legolas thought of a half-dozen responses he could give, but opted to just shrug vaguely. He glanced at Elladan, who was still conversing silently with his brother, and debated whether Elrohir would be able to sense what he had more clearly. The idea was quickly dismissed as he knew the younger twin's range was not large enough to see the presences without them getting closer.

He did not want Elrohir knocking himself out by trying to sense too far. Especially since the others would panic, not know what was happening, and have no sensor or way to contact the other group. And knowing the reckless twins...

"Elladan." The assassin interrupted the twin's mental conversation. "First, tell your brother  _not_  to stretch his sensing area further. I mean it."

The silver-eyed elf gave him a perplexed glance and did as he said.

"Now, tell him I sensed something just outside both of our ranges. I could not tell what it was—" Legolas rubbed his forehead. "—but he should be wary, all right? And warn him about the Shadowed Trees up ahead." He added as an afterthought.

Worried glances were shot the assassin's way as Elladan relayed the message, expression pinching slightly. Fili's blue eyes were sharp as he watched the twin intently, teeth clenched and aura rolling with anger and fear. Legolas could not think of why the dwarf would be so upset.

 _He must be worried about his brother_ , he decided.

"Elrohir understands." Elladan reported. "He's passed on the message."

"Good." Eomer said. "I'm sure that what Esgal sensed was nothing." he added, noting the nervous glances being directed at the assassin.

Blue eyes met violet and Legolas frowned internally.  _You don't believe that any more that I do._  "I could attempt to—"

"No." the Marshal said immediately. "Don't even try. Elrohir will be able to sense if... whatever it is gets closer. They'll be fine."

 _Famous last words_ , Legolas thought, and knew he was not the only one.

In less time than any of them would have liked, the Fellowship could spy the Shadowed Trees through the trunks. The difference between the normal and darkened trees was startling, the greens and browns abruptly turning into blacks and greys. At Eomer's command, the group stopped far out of the trees' reach, only the elf daring to walk closer.

_**Stupid flesh-mortals come territory OURS stay out** _ **kill** _**.** _

Legolas listened for the Shadowed Trees' voices, cringing slightly as harsh, angry tones reached his ears. Their voices were like someone was stabbing glass shards into his ears. Compared to these trees, the Shadowed Trees of Mirkwood sounded as beautiful and eloquent as a maiden singing a complex ballad under the stars. He could barely understand their speech, if their jumbled rants could even be called that, but Legolas had to at least try to grant the Fellowship some measure of safety while within the angry trees' territory.

The elf put on a strong, unaffected front. Confident, but not arrogant. Firm, but not intending to force his will on the trees. He had to show he was unafraid, but respected the Shadowed Trees and their might.

 _ **Kill rip shred stay out flesh-mortals our place!**_  The trees snarled, all but glaring at the Fellowship that hovered just out of their reach.

 _Hello_. the elf greeted the trees carefully.

The trees paused in their rant, momentarily stunned.  _ **Elf-not-glow understand us?**_

 _Yes_ , Legolas told them in a calm voice.  _Elf-not-glow understands._

The Shadowed Trees ruffled their leaves, branches stabbing at the air like spears.  _ **Our place,**_   _ **Elf-not-glow.**_ They hissed, _ **Ours! Stay out!**_

 _Elf-not-glow knows is your place._  Legolas replied soothingly, keeping his speech simple with slight difficulty.  _Elf-not-glows and flesh-mortals not here to steal your place. Elf-not-glows and flesh-mortals wish to go through your place, to place on the other side. Elf-not-glows and flesh-mortals are asking for trees' permission to pass through without the Great Trees harming us._

The trees considered this, limbs swaying back and forth lazily. Their attention was momentarily directed towards one of their kin to the south, but its voice was too faint for Legolas to hear. The Shadowed Trees' mood shifted, and if they had mouths, the assassin sensed that they would be smirking.

 _ **We will not attack Elf-not-glows nor your flesh-mortals.**_  The trees promised abruptly, their sudden grammatical capabilities startling Legolas. Then they snarled.  _ **Quiet hush**_ **leave** **!**

Understanding the last sentence was a dismissal from the conversation and not a denial of entry to the dark forest, the assassin retreated and turned to his companions.

"They have agreed to let us through. I would suggest we hurry before they change their minds."

Eomer was the first to step forward, looking at the looming shadows with determination. "Well done, Esgal. I agree that we should go before we wear out our welcome. Let's go!"

LOTRLOTRLOTR

As he picked his way over blackened brush and tree roots, Aragorn glanced sideways at Elrohir as the elf walked beside him. The twin's eyes were glazed, but not from tiredness as they had been for the past few days, but distraction as he spoke with Elladan. Compared to earlier, when his expression was pinched and his face was pale, the son of Elrond was positively glowing. Literally.

Beneath the leaves and boughs of the Shadowed Trees, Elrohir glowed like a beacon, even though his light was still slightly dimmer than it normally was. The Ranger— a competent hunter and master of stealth— felt slightly unnerved and stressed about his brother's glow, even though it indicated good health. In the dark forest, it felt like the glow could be seen for miles, like a candle in a starless night.

"You're glowing, Elrohir!" Apparently Aragorn was not the only one who had noticed the elf's increased light. Pippin looked at the twin with awed eyes, excitement and wonder on his face.

Elrohir's bright silver eyes focused on the hobbit and he smiled slightly. "Yes, I am. Have you not noticed before?"

"I have." Pippin proclaimed. "But for the past couple days your glow's been kind of dim. Sort of like a dying candle. But now you seem a lot better."

Ahead of them, Gandalf froze in his tracks. The Fellowship tensed, wondering if the Wizard has sensed something Elrohir could not, but he only turned to the elf. His sharp blue eyes were slightly wide, and his mouth settled in a grim line. The words he spoke surprised them all. "I sincerely apologize, Elrohir. I did not think of..."

"It's all right," the elf interrupted hurriedly, gaze flicking to Aragorn. "We're both fine now. Le— Esgal helped Elladan."

Gandalf relaxed, gaze softening. "I see. Good." He continued walking, staff tapping against the ground.

"What was that about?" Aragorn heard Merry hiss, and heard Pippin give a vague mumble of confusion in response.

The Ranger himself was also befuddled about the Istar's words. He glanced once more at his brother's steady but slightly dull glow, studying it silently, when realization struck him like an arrow to the heart.

 _I am such a fool. That's what Legolas meant,_  Aragorn thought, horrified.  _We didn't notice Elladan was fading and taking Elrohir with him._

 _And you call yourself a healer?_ A cold, mocking voice asked him with a sneer.

The Ranger ignored it, stepping up beside his brother as he tried to think of a way to apologize for not being there, for not helping him, for almost letting two more people he cared about  _die_ —

"Don't worry, Estel." Elrohir spoke up before he could say anything. "It's over. Neither Elladan nor I are going to fade."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Aragorn demanded, not quite accusing. His brothers had almost faded and he had not noticed.

Elrohir's silver eyes met his own. "What could you have done?" he asked gently.

The Ranger could not think of anything, and grit his teeth almost mulishly. "I would have figured out something, because apparently Legolas was able to—" Aragorn barely stopped himself from clapping his hands over his mouth, a blush crossing his cheeks.  _Stupid stupid stupid—_  "I mean, er—"

"You don't need to think of an excuse. I already know about Esgal's real name." Elrohir said casually, though in a low voice. His eyes twinkled with mischief for a moment before his amusement faded. "Esgal told Elladan when he was fading, and Elladan told me. I'm not going to shout to all of Middle-earth about it. Although I am a little irritated that I never figured it out on my own." The elf scowled in discontent.

Aragorn found himself smiling, glad that his brother was not making Legolas's identity seem like an important, realm-changing thing. His joy was immediately snuffed as the forest rustled around them, almost like a predator ready to strike. He glanced around warily, swearing for a moment that he could hear the trees  _hissing_ like a thousand venomous snakes.

The Ranger lowered his voice. "I'm glad you're feeling better, truly, but do you think you could dim your glow slightly? I don't think the Shadowed Trees like it."

This time, Aragorn definitely heard the trees  _growl_. Elrohir did as well, his wide silver eyes scanning the area around him as if he had just recalled what type of place they were in. He pulled his hood over his head and the growling quieted slightly.

"Can we go any faster?" Gimli asked gruffly, eying the trees like they were going to eat him. "This place is worse than the blasted woods Esgal comes from."

"Of course it is." Gandalf murmured, blue eyes constantly scanning the sharp branches around them. "Back in Mirkwood, the trees love and respect Esgal. Here, they are merely conceding to his request because they are curious."

"We will be out of here before nightfall, right?" Pippin asked shakily, refusing to look directly at a branch he could see pulling away from them on the ground.

"Of course. We would not have entered these woods today if we had to spend the night." Gimli answered gruffly.

Another hiss sounded through the air and the Fellowship jumped, the dwarves and Aragorn reaching for their weapons. Merry stayed as close as he could to Pippin, staring stonily ahead as his teeth clenched.

"Just keep walking. Just keep walking. Just keep— _AHHH_!"

A branch draped down from the canopy, wrapping around the hobbit's arm. Pippin gave a terrified scream but before he could act, Kili was there slashing through the offending limb. Almost as if that were a signal, the Shadowed Trees came alive, dozens of wiry black limbs reaching for the Fellowship with the speed of striking vipers.

Aragorn cut through five branches in one swoop, dodging backwards as four more attempted to impale him upon their sharp points. Beside him, Elrohir ducked a sword-like slash from another wooden arm, rolling forward and turning the extremities into splinters with quick strikes.

"What happened?" Kili shouted as he defended against the trees' attacks. "Did we antagonize them?"

Gandalf's eyes were icy as he hit multiple trees with Light magic, freezing them in place. "I believe that our group may not have been included in Esgal's deal. Or the trees are simply tired of us."

"Forget all that!" Gimli bellowed. "I am not going to lose to kindling!"

A branch wrapped around Kili's waist but the auburn-haired dwarf hacked through the glorified stick before it could lift the Dwarf Prince off the ground. Aragorn slashed through four more creeping limbs, managing to reach the two dwarves in an attempt to form a defensive position.

Merry and Pippin were back to back, pale but fighting as they beat back the branches that poised over them, twitching and stabbing unnaturally. Through luck and sheer force of will, the man, dwarves, hobbits, and Wizard managed to stand together, decimating the seemingly endless barrage of wood when it came too close.

Only Elrohir remained outside of their desperate group, the elf attacking the clawing trees with a speed that would have impressed Aragorn in any other situation. None of the Fellowship knew that a branch wrapped around the Son of Elrond's ankle until pulled him to the ground with a sharp tug. Elrorhir gave a shocked scream as the limb eagerly retracted, not strong enough to lift the elf into the air. The elf's sword rose, and the Ranger could almost  _see_  the branch realize it would be at its victim's mercy in a moment. Unwilling to let its efforts go to waste, the tree limb lifted Elrohir with all its strength, swinging around like a whip... and snapped, sending the elf flying with the force of a catapult.

The elf's shocked yell cut off as he slammed into the trunk of an unforgiving oak, head smacking into the wood with a crack loud enough to hear over the tree's snarls. The elf fell a couple of feet, hitting the ground with a loud thud, and Aragorn could only watch in horror as blood trickled from a cut on his forehead.

More branches circled around his still form like vultures, ready to swoop down from above. With a war cry, Pippin dashed to Elrohir, swinging his sword haphazardly.

"Get away from him!" the brave hobbit shouted fiercely, managing to cut apart three of the deadly limbs.

A branch wrapped around his sword arm but Aragorn chopped it in half with ease. The rest of the Fellowship gathered around Elrohir, the two first responders moving aside so the six could create a circle of sharp steel.

More and more cursed limbs fell to their blades, the Shadowed Trees' growing hesitant as their ability to reach their victims dwindled. Slowly, the limbs retracted, returning to their natural stillness. The Fellowship stayed on their guard, looking up at the Shadowed Trees in suspicion.

Aragorn turned to check Elrohir, breathing a sigh of relief when he felt the steady pulse in his neck. He quickly retrieved a bandage from his bag and pressed it against the elf's lightly bleeding wound, and applied a temporary field dressing. He would look over the wound more carefully when the Fellowship was no longer surrounded by enemies.

"How much further until we get out of here?" the Ranger asked Gandalf quietly.

The Wizard grimaced. "A couple of hours. I can hopefully shield us from—"

Quicker than a blink the Shadowed Trees struck, wrestling weapons from the Fellowship's grasps. Gandalf cursed as his staff was among those taken, but before any of them could attempt to retrieve their blades, the black limbs shot out, wrapping around arms and torsos and holding the Fellowship in place.

"Blast it!" Gimli shouted, struggling against the wooden bonds.

Pippin looked upward, eyes wide with fear as sharp, deadly branches hovered above them. "Are they going to kill us?"

Aragorn noted the lack of further violence from the trees and frowned. "Apparently not yet. They're more than capable."

Kili twisted and thrashed, scowling in self-loathing. "We've been captured by trees.  _Trees!_  Fili is never going to let me hear the end of this."

Aragorn did not know how long they struggled to free themselves from their unexpected captors, but even the angrily stubborn Gimli could not escape the Shadowed Trees' firm hold.

By then, Merry almost looked bored by the whole affair. Since he guessed the trees were not going to kill them, it was rather dull standing there with nothing to do. "You know, its almost like they're waiting for something." the hobbit mentioned idly.

"Yeah. Waiting for us to starve to death." Pippin whined. "We missed evening tea. And dinner! And—"

"I do believe that dinner is the least of your worries." A smooth voice said, shaking with what could only be excitement.

Aragorn's mouth went dry as the speaker stepped out of the shadows, black eyes glinting with uncontainable joy as he surveyed the captured Fellowship.

"I honestly thought it would be tougher to catch you, but once I got the Shadowed Trees to agree to help... Oh well. Victory is easy."

The tree limbs snaked up over their captives' mouths, silencing them all before they could speak. More figures emerged from the shadows, surrounding the Fellowship on all sides and cutting off any hope of getting away.

Amulug smirked triumphantly. "Tie them up. It's about time my Master gets some answers."

LOTRLOTRLOTR

The Shadowed Trees of Mirkwood were doing a very good job of keeping Their-Elvenking and the Sanctuary safe, in their opinion. Not many enemies came close to their boughs, but if they did, the trees were always ready to fight-kill-maim any foes that even attempted to get inside Their-Elvenking's home. The trees loved Their-Elvenking and Daelas and Their-Elvenking's family very much and they would protect them with everything they had.

But they could not just stab-slaughter-shred any person who came close to Teir-Elvenking's safe-place. Sometimes those who came, like Daelas's-Man-Mellon and Little-Hairy-Feets and Man-On-Eagle were seeking the safety of Their-Elvenking's home.

So when a group of men and elves with not-Dark-But-Not-Right auras and not-Black-bug-evil eyes appeared at the edge of their woods, the Shadowed Trees were unsure of what to do. One elf— who looked much like Their-Elvenking with golden hair and blue eyes— approached the place where their boughs blocked the path, wrapped together like a deadly, thick basket.

"Great trees of Greenwood, please let me pass."

The voice was familiar. The Wrong-Right-Not-Right-Familiar elf was... familiar. They Knew-Did-Not-Know him. The Shadowed Trees were confused, so they did and said nothing. So focused on the Familiar-Right-Not-Right group were they, that they did not notice the elf inside Their-Elvenking's safe-place until he spoke.

"It's all right. You can let them all in."

The trees 'looked' at the Sinda elf with green eyes, wondering why he felt Not-Dark-But-Not-Right as well. Not as Not-Right as those outside Their-Elvenking's home did, but still Wrong.

"Do you not recognize who that is?" the elf who was asked incredulously. "That is the King of Greenwood!"

The Shadowed Trees almost attacked him for saying such a thing—  _ **Their-Elvenking**_   _was the leader of the safe-place!_ — but hesitated as they continued to study the men and elves waiting patiently outside. The one who had spoken was so familiar, as were many of the other elves. The trees knew them, vaguely may have remembered them, but for some reason the Shadowed Trees had not seen them in a long time...

"Please let us pass." the elf outside spoke again. "I need to find my son."

The words struck a chord within the Shadowed-Trees as they vaguely remembered Their-Elvenking's sadness about his own son, Daelas. Their-Elvenking had been so sad about being unable to reunite with Daelas, and now this elf looked very sad indeed to not be able to be with his own son...

The elf beneath their bows spoke softly to the trees around him, seeming to know their thoughts even though they had not shared them with him. "Daelas would be very happy to know you helped reunite a father and son. Please, let them in. They've been separated long enough."

Still uncertain, the Shadowed Trees relented.

The ones who the trees recognized-but-did-not-but-were-right-wrong passed through the opening, with quick, confident strides. A few paused, looking up at the trees and smiling or voicing their genuine thanks before hurrying forward.

The golden-haired elf paused beside the green-eyed elf inside, studying him for a moment. Then he smiled, and the smile was not quite right. "Thank you for your assistance, Amon."

"Always, Hirnin." Amon replied calmly, almost reverently, not even questioning how the elf could be standing before him.

The elf hurried along, leading the group beneath the silent Shadowed Trees. As they watched the newcomers walk deeper into the forest, the Shadowed Trees could not help but feel as if they had done something wrong. But they had recognized a few of the elves among their group, and none of those elves were Shadowed, so they could not be enemies...

...Right?

 _Of course they aren't,_  one tree said suddenley as it watched the elf at the front of the group.  _That elf there is First-Elvenking!_

The Shadowed Trees were surprised, but realized it was right, and their joy rippled through each of their consciousnesses like an infectious wave as they finally remembered exactly who the elf was. They had not done anything wrong. Their-Elvenking would be so happy that First-Elvenking was here, that First-Elvenking was back.

And based on the expression on Oropher's face, he was just as excited about reuniting with his son.


	11. Vicious Revelations

Smoke drifted lazily though the air, making the already cloudy sky seem even darker. As Eowyn gazed at the people around her, she could barely recognize a soul because of the ash and blood that covered their tired faces. The enemy was gone, but not before setting Edoras alight.

Taking in a shuddering breath of barely-fresher air, the Shieldmaiden looked over her shoulder at the ruins of her home. Most of the wooden buildings were nothing more than charred wood now, and the grassy hill itself was still smoking and burning. Even the sky above could not escape the fire unscathed, plumes of smoke blocking out a majority of the sunlight and making the morning seem like dusk.

Eowyn scanned the faces of the survivors once more, biting her lip. Many looked back at her, all in varying states of exhaustion and despair. A few of the children were openly crying, while the adults stood in small, tense bunches. There was a feeling of confusion and loss in the air, as if they were unable to comprehend what had happened. Eowyn understood their disorientation.

She turned to Hama. "Are there more?"  _There has to be more._

The Captain shook his head, reddish hair a dull, grimy gray from the soot. "I'm afraid not, my Lady. We scoured the streets as much as we could, but the fire spread too quickly."

Eowyn swallowed. "Is it—" She paused, glancing at the boy that still clung to her dress. He was still trembling, even hours later, and refused to leave her side. "Is it Dark Fire?" she whispered, unwilling to let others hear her question.

"We don't believe so." Hama said. "A few people saw the enemy light the walls. The fire was orange, not green."

Eowyn sighed in relief. At least the land would not be cursed like the Shire. She let her eyes scan the area once more, not spotting the two people she sought. She knew that she should notice Theoden and Theodred immediately, and briefly wondered why they were not taking charge of the gathered citizens and soldiers.

"Where are my uncle and cousin? Are they still searching for survivors?" she queried.

A passing guard heard her question and paused midstep, turning to the Shieldmaiden. "My Lady." He bowed abruptly and straightened, refusing to meet her eyes. "The King… he…"

Eowyn watched the young man stutter and falter, unable to finish his sentence. "He what?"

Another guard, Herefara took pity on the younger man, placing a hand on his shoulder and stepping forward. "Theoden King was killed, my Lady."

Eowyn blinked. Something cold settled in her chest, but she ignored it, focusing completely on the guard. "I'm sorry. I must have misheard you. Could you repeat what you just said?"

The guard's black eyes were filled with an unfathomable sadness and when he spoke his voice was gentle. "Your Uncle was killed, my Lady." His voice lowered further. "He was assassinated by an archer in the Golden Hall."

"I…" Eowyn could barely speak, something terrible and bleak wrapping around her throat, choking her. "Theodred?"

"Prince Theodred fell to the same archer." Herefara murmured. "The arrows matched."

It was then that Eowyn saw the two black-feathered arrows in the man's hand, the tips still covered with blood. Since her mind refused to think about what she had just lost, it latched onto the uniquely-styled arrows, memorizing every aspect of their appearance. They looked familiar, and it was not until the child at her side gasped in recognition did she realize why.

 _It could not be,_  the Shieldmaiden thought, feeling ill.  _It wasn't that man_.  _Why would he kill my uncle and cousin but save the child and I?_

… _My uncle and cousin are dead._

Grief struck her like a blow to the chest and she gasped lightly, leaning over and pressing her hands over her mouth. She could feel Hama's hand on her shoulder and hear his worried murmurs, but could not respond to his voice. Small, wailing sounds ripped themselves from her throat and her body shook with forcefully contained grief. Tears pricked at her eyes but she refused to let them fall, the small part of her that still held dignity firmly rejecting the option to show her despair in front of her people.

The dutiful Shieldmaiden of Rohan slowly crept to the forefront and Eowyn breathed hard, smothering her sorrow. She noticed that the guards had closed in around her, hiding her from sight as best they could so the citizens could not see her breakdown. Eowyn clenched her teeth and straightened her back, only the slight tremble of her hands revealing her barely-suppressed turmoil.

"Thank you." She said shortly under her breath.

They nodded and stepped back, though Hama and the boy stayed at her sides.

"Where are they?" Eowyn made herself ask.

"With the rest of the fallen." Herefara murmured. "Those that we managed to retrieve."

She swallowed hard, taking in another, harsh gulp of air. "Who is next in the line of command?"

Hama's expression grew unreadable. "Your brother, Eomer. However, since he is not here, that would be you, my Lady."

"Oh." Was the Shieldmaiden's response.

She noticed it then. The people close enough to see her were watching her with those awfully lost expressions, hope and fear warring on their dirty features as they silently pleaded for guidance. Eowyn kept her expression calm and stern, drawing on all of her lessons in diplomacy to keep her grief off her face.

 _I'm their leader now, or until my brother returns, at least_ , Eowyn thought.  _They're going to rely on me to guide them, govern them, and keep them safe… It would be foolish to think that I can avoid losing anyone else but I swear to the Valar I will do my best._

 _I never wanted this_ , a tiny part of her whimpered but she shoved it away.

"What supplies do we have?" she asked, glancing around for whoever could answer her question. "Food? Water? Medicine?"

"We managed to save a large quantity of meat, breads, and drinks from storage before the flames reached it," a soldier—Fastred— informed her. "It should last a few weeks if we're careful. Most of the medical supplies we have are with the healers."

Eowyn directed her attention to the closest healer. "How many wounded?"

"Thirty-two are walking, twenty-six are bedridden, and four are still critical." The man reported bluntly.

"When will they be able to travel?" she questioned.

"Those that can will be able to in a few days." He stated.

Eowyn saw the meaning behind his words— not all of the injured were going to survive— but did not mention it. "Has there been word from any of the nearby villages?"

"I'm afraid many of them have been overrun, my Lady," Ceorl, a messenger told her reluctantly. "Any that escaped should arrive here within a week."

 _We're on our own then._  The Shieldmaiden did not outwardly react, but her stomach churned uncomfortably. "I see. Herefara, assemble some men and set up camp. Have anyone who can assist you."

The guard nodded sharply and walked away, barking orders at his men. The dreary atmosphere lessened but did not disperse as the people of Edoras gained a purpose, moving about and helping where they could. Eowyn watched them for a moment before speaking to Hama in a low tone.

"Gather the dead for burial." Eowyn said grimly. "We cannot leave them to the elements. We'll… We will have the funeral tonight."

"Of course not, my Lady." Hama murmured, eyes distant.

She felt guilty for a moment, realizing he— everyone— had lost people too, but drove those feelings away. She had to focus on the people still alive. The guard went to do as she commanded and paused.

"Where are we going to go, my Lady?" the reddish-haired man asked. "We cannot remain here long. It is likely the enemy will return."

 _To kill the rest of us_ , they both finished silently, but did not say.

The Shieldmaiden considered his words, staring blankly over the grassy plains that surrounded Edoras. The wind blew past her towards the still-burning city, causing the smoke that hung in the air to float away from the gathered citizens.

Hama was right. They could not stay here. They may as well stay in the field with all the good the walls that surrounded Edoras did against the Void's forces. Eowyn briefly considered heading for Helm's Deep, but dismissed the idea immediately. Helm's Deep had no more defenses against the orcs and Shadowed Elves than Edoras did.

The same could be said of Gondor and Minas Tirith, which also had the added possibility of Denethor turning them away at the gate. Eowyn was politically aware enough to know that the Steward of Gondor was not in the most stable mental state at the moment, his mistrust and callousness only growing each day. It was as saddening as it was infuriating to see the once-proud and great man fall victim to the despair and darkness that plagued the world.

No, they could not go to Gondor. And Rohan was already ravaged, so open to another attack that the Shieldmaiden's skin crawled with nerves. This was not a normal war. They could not be ready for every attack, and the enemy could come from every shadow around them. They could not win back a country that had not truly been conquered, and Eowyn was unwilling to sit around a wait for the Void to kill her people one by one.

There truly was no other choice. The decision had already been made.

"One week from now, we will go to the Sanctuary." Eowyn stated.

LOTRLOTRLOTRLOTR

When he sensed the Shadowed Trees' ambush on the other group, Legolas resisted the urge to run to their sides. The assassin did not outwardly react, all-too aware of the black trunks that surrounded the Fellowship, though these trees were still calm.

The elf quickened his pace so that he was side-by-side with Eomer, speaking to the man in a low voice. "The Shadowed Trees have attacked and captured the others."

Eomer remained physically unworried by the news, but his aura flared with anxiety. "Do you know why?"

"No. I do not want to ask the trees. If I say the wrong thing, or act concerned for the others, these trees may turn against us as well." Legolas warned.

Behind the two of them, Elladan flinched, skin blanching. Before he could speak, the assassin stepped beside him, laying a hand on his arm.

"Don't do anything rash. Remember where we are."

The Son of Elrond's angry expression morphed into one of comprehension as his silver eyes flicked up towards the shadowy treetops. His teeth clenched so hard that Legolas heard the bones grind together. The violet-eyed elf could only watch helplessly as the elder twin grew steadily tenser, his body shaking from stress. Both elves simultaneously flinched, and Elladan uttered a vile curse.

"Elrohir's unconscious." He hissed in a low voice.

"I  _know_." The assassin replied testily.

He closed his eyes, concentrating, and barely stopped himself from swearing aloud. A large group of dark presences had entered his range, heading rapidly for the other Fellowship. They surrounded the group of seven, their shadowy auras swamping their light ones, and just like that Legolas's friends were completely hidden from his senses. This time the assassin did curse aloud, drawing the attention of his companions.

"All of you need to stay calm." The assassin said flatly, giving Fili a warning glare. "Do  _not_  run off."

"What is it?" the dwarf asked dangerously, one hand on his sword-hilt.

Legolas caught Boromir's eye as he stepped behind the Prince, waiting a moment before replying. "The others were captured."

Fili burst into motion but Boromir caught him by the back of his tunic, grabbing him firmly and as the dwarf struggled in his grasp.

"Let me go!" Fili shouted, blue eyes blazing. "Let me  _go_ , blast it!"

"Please stop, Mister Fili!" Sam gasped.

The gardener blocked the dwarf's path, pressing his hands against the blonde-haired warrior's chest. Fili stopped fighting, unwilling to shove and potentially hurt the kind hobbit to get past him.

"The Shadowed Trees captured the others and our pursuers now have them," Legolas explained rapidly, taking advantage of the dwarf's hesitation. "I don't know why they betrayed the others, but we need to be careful  _so they don't attack us as well_."

The words, said in a low but urgent tone, further calmed Fili. At least, the dwarf stopped looking like he wanted to rip through the forest to get to his brother.

"Figure out what happened and how we're going to rescue the others.  _Now_." He snarled, danger and fear dancing in his eyes.

"I'll speak with the trees." The assassin said reluctantly. "Be ready to fight if they betray us as well."

Legolas eyed the closest Shadowed Tree, breathing slowly as he emptied his mind of his fear for Aragorn and the others. He did not touch the gray trunk, speaking casually to the mass consciousness that surrounded them.

 _Elf-Not-Glows saw Trees attack other meat-mortal and bright-elf group. Why?_ Legolas queried.

The trees' paused, surprised he was talking to them again, but responded easily enough.

 _Elf-Not-Glows asked us to not hurt_ _ **his**_ _meat-mortals,_  the trees declared.  _But Dark Elf told us other meat-mortals not part of Elf-Not-Glows group._

The assassin wanted to ask who 'Dark Elf' was, but knew it was best not to demand information from the trees that they would see as none of 'Elf-Not-Glows' business. Still, the other elf's 'name' was enough of a hint for Legolas to deduce that 'Dark Elf' was actually a Shadowed Elf.

 _I never considered the possibility that Shadowed Elves would be able to talk with Shadowed Trees,_  Legolas lamented to himself.  _In hindsight, it makes sense. The Shadowed Trees of Mirkwood are loyal to the Royal Family, but these trees are not a part of the Sanctuary, and would be more inclined to follow creatures of Darkness like them. I considered the fact that these trees were wilder than the ones back home, but I guess I never thought about how much more untamed they were. I need to be careful. If I do this right, I will at least be able to stop them from assisting that Shadowed Elf again…_

 _Dark Elf lied to the Trees_. Legolas informed them.  _Other meat-mortals and bright-elf were a part of Elf-Not-Glows' group._

That made the Shadowed Trees pause. When they spoke again, their voices were suspicious.  _But Elf-Not-Glows and other meat-bags are moving separately…_

Above the Fellowship, black branches began moving, positioning themselves in ways so it would be easy to grab and stab. Legolas heard Frodo breath in sharply and Fili curse under his breath but ignored them both. The assassin stayed steadfast and stoic, not showing any nervousness or fear.

 _There is a river in your forest, but both sides of trees are of one woods,_  he reminded the trees.  _Elf-Not-Glows other group is of the same forest, but are divided by your woods like trees are divided by the river._

The creeping branches stilled and— to everyone's relief— retreated.

 _True_ , the Shadowed Trees mused. Their calm was torn away by anger as they realized what Legolas had said.  _Dark Elf_ _ **lied**_ _to us,_  they snarled.  _Dark Elf Traitor_ _ **used**_ _us!_

 _Yes, Dark Elf did_ , Legolas said smoothly.  _Trees promised Elf-Not-Glows and his groups safe passage through your woods, but Dark Elf made Trees break that promise._

The Shadowed Trees' anger was almost like a physical force, the limbs and branches tensing and lashing angrily around the Fellowship. To Legolas's relief, none of the rage was directed at the people below the boughs, the limbs more likely to stab at each other or the sky than towards the ground. That was good. The trees had turned against 'Dark Elf' and would not assist him again because he betrayed them. Now to get the Trees to let the Fellowship get to the others…

 _Elf-Not-Glows needs to attack Dark Elf Traitor and retrieve his meat-mortals and bright-elf_ , Legolas stated, intentionally letting anger into his tone and using possessive terms for the Fellowship.  _That means Elf-Not-Glows and his together-group needs to travel through your woods until he finds his separate- group._

The Shadowed Trees understood having things that were theirs— their woods, their territory,  _theirs_ — so by claiming the Fellowship was his— even as he inwardly cringed at such a notion— the assassin hoped the trees would be more likely to assist him in his quest to get back what was 'his'. Or at least let the still-free part of the Fellowship stay in the forest to track down the others.

The trees murmured to each other, too low and rapid for Legolas to hear, before returning their attention back to the elf.

 _Trees will not stop you, but trees will not help,_ they decided.

There was something dark and sinister lurking at the back of their consciousness, but since that malice was not directed at the Fellowship, the assassin did not pry.

 _Thank you,_  Legolas said simply and broke the connection.

"A Shadowed Elf manipulated them into attacking the others." He told his allies. "I managed to turn them against him and convinced them to let us find Aragorn and the rest in these woods."

"Which way?" Fili asked immediately, unsheathing his sword.

"I can't sense the others anymore," Legolas revealed reluctantly. "There's too much Darkness covering their presences, even for me." He let his sixth sense brush over the small army that had been hunting them. "Their leader is also splitting up the army so that we cannot just follow them all to the other's location."

"So what's the plan then?" Frodo asked, Sting gripped in one hand.

The hobbit was pale but taking things considerably well, most likely using the knowledge that Merry, Pippin, and his other friends needed help to keep from panicking. Legolas silently went through a dozen different courses of action they could take, one sliding to the front of his mind and making him frown.

"We could—"

"Stop." Eomer interrupted. "Just for a moment."

They all looked at the man, whose face was set in a grim expression. Legolas recognized the face of a man who was putting aside his emotions for logic, becoming the commander of an army who had something to say and did not like it one bit. Eomer let his blue eyes drift over each of them, flicking between Fili and Elladan the most.

He exhaled sharply. "You all are going to despise me for this, but it needs to be said. What is our mission?"

"To retrieve the Black Weapons as quickly as possible." Frodo responded immediately.

Something clicked in Legolas's mind but he stayed silent, biting his lip so he would not say something he would regret. Logic and emotion fought violently within him but he silenced them both, focusing on Eomer's words.

"That's right." The Marshal of Rohan stated. "We are here to get the Weapons, and to make sure the Wielders stay safe. Boromir is the only one who knows where the Temple is and Legolas is a Wielder." He paused, but continued on, only his aura showing his reluctance. "That being said, technically we do not—"

"Continue that sentence and I will gut you." Fili snarled, realizing what the man was trying to say.

Eomer's expression twisted. "Fili—"

"We may not technically need the others to find the Black Weapons, but there's no blasted way we're leaving them behind!" the dwarf bellowed.

"I know." Eomer said hollowly. "But this is about more than just us. None of the others know the location of the Temple, so there is no risk of them revealing its location to the enemy. We need to consider—"

Fili grabbed the man by his arm, yanking him down so they were eye-to-eye. "We. Are. Not. Leaving. Them."

"I estimate that a rescue attempt will take two days at most." Legolas interjected before Eomer could say anything else. The assassin had noticed Elladan's increasingly unstable expression and decided to stop the argument before it came to blows. "A majority of the enemy forces are deeper in the forest. It is likely that the enemy's location is ahead of us, closer to our destination so there will be little time used to rescue our friends."

He could see Eomer waver, the military commander that fought for the greater good being chipped away by the man that wanted his friends to be saved. The assassin cast his senses out, pleased to almost immediately find what he was looking for.

"There is a small band of enemies less than a mile to the east. We could easily overpower them and get information on where the rest of the Fellowship is."

"Do you expect them to just tell us where they have the others?" Eomer asked, resolve crumbling further.

Legolas's expression grew cold. "Yes. The Shadowed Elves won't tell us— They're too loyal to the Void— and the orcs are too simpleminded, but there are men in the group as well."

"Why would the men tell us anything?" Sam asked naively.

"I have my ways." The assassin said in a clipped voice.

He could see that everyone except the gardener understood, their expressions in varying stages of wariness or discomfort.

"Esgal…" Boromir began, a frown on his face and worry in his gaze.

"I will do what I must to save them." Legolas stated, ending the discussion with the subtle warning in his tone. "We should get moving."

They headed east at a rapid pace, the assassin in the lead as he showed the way to the unlucky enemies they would soon encounter. As he ran, Legolas silently prepared himself for what was to come, his determination and training overcoming any reservations he had. He would not hold back against these foes, not when so much could be lost if they failed. This was a war, those men were his enemies, and he could not tread lightly if it meant leaving the Fellowship in enemy hands.

He would do whatever it took, no matter how immoral and cruel, to save his friends.

He just hoped they would not fear him for it.

LOTRLOTRLOTRLOTR

When the Gondorian healer finally told Fael and Megilag their sister was awake, it took all of the silver-haired Prince's self-control not to rush past the woman and into the Houses of Healing. Instead he waited impatiently for his older brother to thank the healer before following him into his sister's room.

Fael was relieved when she did not accompany them inside. He knew that the woman had saved Bereneth's life, but could she really be trusted? Could any of the people of Gondor? Faramir seemed to be nice and hospitable, but apparently his father— the Steward— was as close-minded as he was petty. The chances of him retaliating against the elves— or ordering his men to do so— were too high for Fael to be comfortable around anyone in the city.

He could not let his guard down. He needed to be ready when they were attacked. From the people here or enemies that looked like friends. He could only fully trust his siblings here. They would never try to hurt him. Not like—

The silver-haired Prince broke out of his thoughts as he caught sight of his sister, his current worries being brutally substituted for new ones.

Bereneth was so pale. The white bandages around her chest had more color than her complexion, a fact made only more obvious by the lack of glow that permeated from her skin. Even her normally golden hair seemed duller than usual, similar to a sun that was covered by a thin layer of clouds. Fael felt a slither of fear at the sight of her drawn, exhausted face, her normally confident expression replaced by one of despair and misery.

Next to Fael, Megilag forced a smile, approaching Bereneth's bed with false joy in his steps. "I'm glad you're finally awake, Bere. You missed quite a few interesting encounters while you were sleeping the days away."

The she-elf did not respond in any way, her eyes focused firmly on the ceiling above her. Fael's fear was slowly becoming full-blown terror at the sight, anxiety gripping his heart with its icy claws. He knew what his sister's condition reminded him of, but ignored the insight that would only lead to him falling into an inescapable panic.

Because Bereneth was  _not_  fading. There was no reason for her to, surely. Yes, they had fought— killed— their mother, but that could not be enough for strong, determined Bereneth to give up. Something in Fael shuddered unpleasantly as he remembered the encounter with the creature that Megilag claimed was not their mother, the sword at his hip feeling ten thousand times heavier.

 _She looked just like Naeneth_ , the Prince thought, shivering.  _And acted like her, and spoke like her, and… How could it not have been our mother? Is the Void's power so great that he can create copies of the people we've lost? But what if it wasn't a creature in Naneth's image? What if it was actually_ her _? She attacked us and I killed her. What if the Void somehow brought her back and corrupted her? Is she gone forever? Did I destroy her_ soul _? Did I—_

Megilag abruptly sat on the edge of his sister's bed, the sudden movement startling Fael out of his increasingly frantic thoughts. The silver-gold haired Prince took his sister's hand and held it close to his chest.

"Bere, what's wrong? You're—"  _Quiet. Pale. Hopeless. Fading._  "—upset. Please, tell us what is plaguing you."

She did not appear to hear him, cloudy eyes remaining fixed straight ahead. Fael could not think of anything to say to encourage their sister to speak her mind, wrapping his arms around himself in an effort to keep from sinking into his fretful thoughts again.

As a good younger brother, he should be brainstorming ways to cheer up his sister, not contemplating how he had potentially murdered their mother. Bereneth needed the help and attention not him because he was perfectly fine and did not have nightmares about Luineth killing his siblings and stabbing him or anything. He was not waiting for the other ax to fall and for the Gondorians to turn against the elves, because if his own mother could betray and hurt them then surely the men who already barely trusted them would—

"Esgal is Legolas."

At first, Fael thought he had imagined Bereneth's whispered words. His mind went blank, all thoughts of mothers and murder and betrayal fading away and leaving nothing but a hazy whiteness. Apparently he had not hallucinated the words either because he distantly heard Megilag's soft gasp.

"W-What?" the elder Prince stammered. "Bere, what are you saying?"

She finally looked at them, eyes still cloudy and face impassive. "You heard me. Esgal— the Assassin, the Guardian, the elf we've known for half a century— is our lost little brother." A laugh burst from her lips, high-pitched and hysterical. "He was right in front of us all this time and we didn't notice."

Fael's brain began to work again, thousands of thoughts and memories rushing around his head and making him feel faint. He found himself recalling each and every interaction he had with the violet-eyed assassin, comparing his face to that of the elfling they had lost, wondering how in Arda he had not noticed the similarities before…

"How do you know?" Megilag asked quietly, as if he could barely find the effort to speak. "A-Are you sure that—"

"Don't pretend it isn't true." Their sister said hollowly. "All the little puzzle pieces are coming together at last in your head, aren't they?" Her tone remained flat, not the slightest hint of sarcasm in her voice.

"I…" The elder Prince lifted a shaking hand to his head, brushing his hair out of his face vigorously. "How can this… We're here for nothing." Both hands went to his hair now, gripping it tightly, uncaring that it was becoming mussed. "We left the Sanctuary and traveled here for  _nothing_."

"Adar knows who Esgal is." Bereneth informed them listlessly. "Why else would he send Thiad to bring us back to Mirkwood?"

Fael recalled Thiad's shifty words to them before they had been taken to Minas Tirith. The Eagle had wanted to tell them something, but had been unwilling to where enemies could hear…

Clarity struck the elf like a thunderbolt and he clapped his hands on both of his sibling's shoulders, mind clearer than it had been ever since  _that day_.

"Don't mention his name anymore." He said urgently, but softly. "Remember where we are."

Megilag's own gaze sharpened and he nodded once in understanding. "Right."

Bereneth remained in her bubble of misery. "I mocked him. I hurt him and called him terrible things and treated him awfully." She barely held back a sob. "I hated and was jealous of my own brother."

"Bere…" the silver-haired Prince said helplessly, glancing around nervously to make sure no one was near. "We really should talk about this la—"

"No… I hate and am  _still_  jealous of him." Bereneth put her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking violently. "I remember and love the little elfling we lost, but I'm dismissive and envious of the assassin we know. I know they're the same, but I don't see Esgal as my brother. I'm a terrible person!"

If possible, her face grew paler, eyes sliding shut. For a moment, Fael thought she might have fainted, but her eyes snapped open before he could check her pulse.

"I broke his arm…" she whimpered. "I attacked him and… I—  _I—_ "

The two Princes could only watch as her breathing grew faster,  _faster_ , coming in desperate, panicked gasps that made Fael want to join her in her hysteria. Megilag kept a level head, grasping his sister's shoulders and looking her in the eyes.

"Bere, breathe. Breathe with me." He said, demonstrating.

Fael wanted to cry as his sister struggled to calm herself, the strong, fierce warrior broken down by the realization of what she had done. Slowly— too slowly— Bereneth's breathing evened out, some color returning to her cheeks as she steadied herself.

"What is going on here?"

Fael was moving before the voice fully registered, standing defensively in front of the door to Bereneth's room. The healer looked unimpressed by his position, a warning on her face as she silently promised retribution if he did not steps aside.

The Prince refused to move. His siblings were unbalanced— weakened— and he was not going to let a potential threat near them. And this woman was a threat— now more than ever before— because Fael knew that if she heard that a certain assassin was a Mirkwood Royal, she  _would_  tell someone. Most likely Denethor or Faramir, but no matter what outsiders would know.

Legolas's identity was Mirkwood's business, and no one else's. The elf did not know how much the Steward knew about the Lost Prince, but it would be just like Denethor to use that information against the Royals and Mirkwood somehow. The bitter man would find a way, and Fael felt that the elves were already in a dangerous place for merely being in Minas Tirith.

Fael boldly continued his blockage of the door, refusing to let the healer near his siblings. "Nothing is wrong. You do not need to come in. We're all right."

"She doesn't sound 'all right', dear." The woman said stubbornly.

Fael could still hear his sister's soft sobbing and quiet rambles, but did not turn back to look at her. "We will handle it. Bereneth just found out something…"  _Wonderful. -changing. Horrible._ "…that has altered her perception of many things. We're handling it."

The healer looked unconvinced, but she gave in. "All right. I will return in the hour to check her bandages. If you need help before then, come get me."

"Thank you." Fael said shortly but genuinely.

He waited for her to retreat before returning to his siblings. Megilag was holding Bereneth now, who had finished rambling and was merely sitting silently in his arms. The elder Prince's gaze caught Fael's emerald one and he shook his head, grimacing. Peering closer at his sister, the silver-haired elf realized that she was indeed silent, but that did not mean she was not talking.

Bereneth's mouth moved silently, no words exiting her lips, and Fael could vaguely read the self-blame and apologies she did not utter aloud. His own guilt and worries retreated further into the back of his mind as he sat beside his two siblings, hugging them both and wondering why things had to happen this way.

The sequence of events that had led to this moment had started too long ago for them to stop it, unintentional antagonism between two unknowing siblings culminating in a breakdown on the antagonistic older sister's side. Fael had been preparing himself for a less-than happy reunion with Legolas when he first thought his little brother was in Minas Morgul, but nothing could have prepared him for this.

Fael may not know his brother— the assassin— as well as he might like, but he knew one thing for certain.

Esgal—  _Legolas_ — would never forgive himself if he was the reason Bereneth broke.


	12. Of Mind Games and Interrogation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Implied/Referenced torture. It is not described.
> 
> Guide:
> 
> (Speaking in Sindarin)
> 
> [Speaking in Easterling Language.]

Aragorn did not open his eyes when he regained consciousness. He could feel cold metal manacles around his wrists and ankles, informing him that his last memories of being captured and knocked unconscious were indeed true. Staying cautious, the Ranger listened, immediately hearing two voices cursing in Khuzdul.

Kili's angry shouts were a mere cell or two away based on the volume, while Gimli's vengeful oaths were potentially ten to fifteen, depending on echo and how loudly the dwarf was letting his displeasure be known.

The man focused on closer noises, zeroing in on the harsh, nervous breathing that came from nearby, the person only a few feet from Aragorn. It was like they were trying their best to keep the sounds of their distress as soft as possible. Another stuttering gasp and low mumble let the Ranger identity his fellow prisoner as Pippin.

Aragorn opened his silver eyes at last, spotting the hobbit across the room. To his relief, Pippin was not hanging from chains like him, but was instead sitting on the floor, connected to the wall by a low chain around his ankle.

The hobbit perked up when his gaze met Aragorn's and he opened his mouth. Then Pippin froze and clamped his jaw shut without uttering a word. The Ranger went on his guard, scouring the small dungeon they occupied for any sign of a threat. The cell was empty except for the two prisoners, and the iron-barred door remained firmly closed, with no one else in sight.

Aragorn remained wary. "Are you all right? Is something wrong?" he asked urgently.

"I'm f-fine." Pippin replied quietly. "I'm not hurt. I just thought you wouldn't want me to let them know you're awake."

The Ranger's expression softened slightly. He always did have the bad habit of underestimating hobbits and their perceptiveness.

"That was a good decision." He said genuinely. Keeping an eye on the door, he moved on to more pressing matters. "Do you know where the others are, where we are being kept, or anything else that you think is important?"

He kept his tone calm and not quite commanding, and Pippin relaxed further, emboldened by the knowledge that he was no longer sitting alone in a dungeon.

"The Shadowed Elf had his men knock out everyone except Merry and I. We're in some type of fortress or stronghold, I think. It's like that evil place in Mirkwood. Um, I saw them put Gandalf and Merry in a room a few levels up, and I think Kili and Elrohir are right next to us. Gimli woke up early and was trying to fight them so they brought him further down."

A distant insult in Khuzdul supported his statement.

The hobbit seemed to wilt slightly, face going pale. "Elrohir was bleeding pretty badly from where he hit the tree. One of the Shadowed Elves wrapped up his wound but other than that I think they haven't treated him. Kili's angry about it."

More Dwarvish cursing punctuated his statement, but neither prisoner smiled. Aragorn nodded, closing his silver eyes and trying to mentally map out the fortress.

"How many flights of stairs did we go down? Can you remember the number of guards you passed? Which way would we have to go from here to find the exit? Do you know where they put our weapons?" he asked rapidly.

Pippin fiddled with his chain, biting his lip. "Um. Six sets of stairs. Five guards at each gate, maybe? We'd have to go up all of the stairs, through a few halls, and to the left to leave. I don't know where our supplies and weapons are."

He sounded subdued as he reported what he knew. The Ranger tried to picture it as best he could, fervently wishing he had been conscious for the trip inside. He could have looked for things Pippin would not think to, like hiding places, traps, and hidden passages. But it was useless to linger on the past.

 _We need to plan our escape_ , Aragorn thought.  _Elladan would have noticed that Elrohir fell unconscious, and Legolas might have sensed our distress, but there is no guarantee that the others will be able to find and rescue us._

There was no doubt in the Ranger's mind that the others  _would_  be attempting to free them. The tactical part of the man's mind murmured that there was no large-scale reason for the Fellowship members to retrieve their comrades, but Aragorn knew Legolas, Elladan, and the others were as likely to leave them behind as Iãgaw was to suddenly declare that he wanted eternal peace.

The other half of the Fellowship would be coming for their captured friends, whether it was logical or not. It would be in all of their best interests to break out on their own and make their job easier.

The sound of a door opening interrupted Aragorn's thoughts. He and Pippin looked up to see a familiar Shadowed Elf enter the room, the door slamming shut and locking behind him. Amulug was practically vibrating with excitement and glee, a triumphant smirk on his face as he looked at the Ranger.

"Estel. Or may I call you 'Aragorn' now?" he greeted cordially.

The Ranger said nothing, unwilling to antagonize the elf. Pippin was strong in his own way, but the silver-eyed man knew that if he angered Amulug, it would most likely not be him that would receive punishment. Why else put the hobbit in the same room as Aragorn?

The Ranger did not let his eyes flick obviously towards Pippin, rage and helplessness already gathering in his chest.  _If Amulug wants information, he'll hurt the others in an attempt to make those with said information to speak. Threatening him harm if he touches Pippin is useless, and will only encourage him to hurt the hobbit since he will be a weakness for me. If torture is Amulug's intention, I need to use his anger against me in order to keep his attention on_ _ **me**_ _, not Pippin._

This was not the first time Aragorn had been captured with others, but it was the first instance where he was unlikely to be able to escape or be rescued in a timely manner. His captors of the past had either been low-tier lackeys, idiots, or had been quickly taken care of by Aragorn's allies. But this time, it seemed that the man's luck in such matters had finally run out.

Amulug seemed to be struggling with himself for a moment, brow furrowing and teeth gritting as he stood before the captured Ranger. He relaxed abruptly, black eyes focusing on Aragorn's face.

"Right now, I want nothing more than to put my blade through your heart." He said lowly, venom dripping from his voice. "You cost me my family, my honor, and my  _home_. I will  _never_  forgive you for that."

The Ranger stayed silent, knowing better than to argue against the Shadowed Elf's insane logic. Long before the Void had corrupted Amulug's mind, he had— in a way— already been broken, believing delusions and placing blame where it was not deserved. The elf's hand twitched towards his sheathed sword before it lowered to his side, as if Amulug had to force himself to refrain from drawing his blade.

"But My Master has ordered me to let you live, for now." Was that bitterness the Ranger heard in his voice? Abruptly his mood shifted, tone turning contemplative. "Which may actually work in my favor."

Black eyes met silver with an unnerving intensity. "You have two choices, Ranger. You can tell me what I want to know, and I'll kill you and your friends quickly. Or you can resist, and I will eventually force the answer from you. You also might want to consider your comrades as well before you decide to try to be a hero."

Amulug's dark gaze flicked to Pippin, who stiffened, before turning back to Aragorn. The Shadowed Elf leaned forward, almost nose-to-nose with the man.

"All I have is one simple question I need you to answer." The Shadowed Elf said lightly. "Where is the Temple that hold the Black Weapons?"

"I don't know." Aragorn answered honestly.

Amulug scoffed. "The Istar claimed the same. I'll admit, the expression he had when I revealed that I— and My Lord— know the Black Weapons exist was quite amusing. You cannot fool me. You would not be wandering through the Darklands without knowing where the Temple is located. Where is it?"

Aragorn had once heard it be claimed that there was nothing worse than being interrogated for information one did not possess. Now he was starting to believe it. None of the imprisoned Fellowship members knew where the Temple was— not that they would tell if they did— but Amulug would not believe that. Sooner or later he was going to go through with his threats, and there was not a thing that the Ranger or anyone else could do to stop him if they could not escape.

Well there was, but Aragorn did not like it.

_Our best eventual choice would be to send Amulug to a false location. But if I tell him too quickly, he'll know its fake, which would mean I would have to let him torture me— or someone else— for a time before 'breaking'. It is also likely that he will kill a few or all of us once he has the information. What do I do? There are no good options here. Unless…_

Praying that the Shadowed Elf would follow his predicted behavior, Aragorn let his eyes flick to Pippin. "None of us know where the Temple is."

 _Please understand what I'm doing, Pippin._  Aragorn thought fervently. _Blast, we should have prepared them for something like this… We should have taught them code words, or discussed what we might do in this situation._

A smile spread across Amulug's face and he turned to the hobbit. "I see. You kept the information with the member that would be least expected."

Confusion flickered across Pippin's features before his eyes widened. "I d-don't know the location of the Weapon p-place." He stammered nervously.

"Of course you do not." The Shadowed Elf said condescendingly, sarcasm dripping from his voice. "Of course you knew we'd think that the Istar or the future King would know where the Temple is… but for the answers to be with an insignificant hobbit…" He laughed. "How unexpected."

 _That's right. Follow the bait._   _Pippin has the information you seek. He's valuable, and you can't risk killing him. So hurt me. Torture me. I have been trained to handle pain. I just need to think of a way to tell Pippin about the false location…_

The hobbit's frightened, anxious eyes sought out Aragorn, who silently cursed himself as he merely shook his head sternly.

_Decipher that, Amulug._

—  _Forgive me, Pippin—_

_What did that head shake mean? Am I telling him not to say anything?_

— _I can't explain what I'm doing—_

_The hobbit wears his heart on his sleeve and his emotions on his face. He's a bleeding heart, and he'll react worse if you hurt others instead of him._

— _I know you're afraid but_ trust me _, Pippin. This way, I won't let anything happen to you—_

_So hurt the Ranger and the hobbit will talk._

— _I'm using you, Pippin, and I'm sorry._

As Aragorn's thoughts went back and forth between hoping that Amulug would follow the trail he had left and apologizing to his confused young friend. He held his breath as the Shadowed Elf towered over Pippin, his shadow falling over the hobbit.

"I suppose I should be talking to you, then." He said calmly. "My point still stands. Tell me what I want to know, or you'll get to watch as your leader is tortured to death."

Pippin looked ready to cry, a distraught apology in his eyes as he looked at Aragorn. "I d-don't know where it is. I'm sorry."

 _No Pippin. I'm the one who should be apologizing._  "It's all right." Was all the Ranger said.

Amulug looked back at Aragorn, pure glee radiating from him once more. "I am going to enjoy this. Shall we begin?"

LOTRLOTRLOTR

It had been ridiculously easy to find and ambush the group of Easterlings that Legolas had sensed. Before the attack, and the others had briefly discussed merely capturing a few of them and leaving the rest alone, but there was always the chance that they would notice their missing members, go looking for the men, or come back to attack the Fellowship in turn.

After a rather one-sided battle, three of the men were still alive for Legolas to… talk to.

 _Torture_ , the assassin thought.  _Don't attempt to hide behind words that merely imply what I will do. What I_ must _do. This is a war, and I must be willing to do whatever I have to in order to rescue our friends._

He was currently studying the three men they had captured from out of their sight, with Eomer and the others being the ones to tie up and stand guard over their captives. The assassin had stayed behind at the battlefield to make sure their enemies were all dead, and also to gather himself and prepare for what he had to do.

Ciaran had taught Legolas that it was best to stay away from those he had to interrogate until he was certain that no hesitance or indecisiveness would show on his face. Being anything less than cold-blooded and apathetic in front of the men would cause them to believe he was merely bluffing at points, which would in turn make his job harder.

Legolas had to look at these men, and not see men. He could not think about the possibility that they had families and friends, that they may be fighting for the Void because of reasons out of their control. He had to see enemies, and only enemies, who had information he needed, and nothing more.

 _I will do what I must_ , the assassin reminded himself, and stepped out of the shadows.

All eyes, both friendly and hostile, immediately went to him.

"Esgal." Eomer said professionally. "Have the stragglers been taken care of?"

"Yes." The assassin replied simply, voice detached and cold. "They will not come after us."

Frodo twitched, eying him nervously, but relaxed when his gaze met violet orbs. Legolas mentally winced while his expression showed none of his momentary guilt.

_Don't worry, Frodo. My eyes will never turn black again._

"Good." Eomer said firmly. He gestured to the pile of swords, daggers, and chain mail that was laying a good distance away from the bound Easterlings. "Our friends have been relieved of their weapons and armor."

"Now what do we do?" Sam asked naively.

The man of Rohan caught Fili's eye. The dwarf nodded, stepping forward and clasping the hobbit's shoulder.

"You and me are going to keep watch to make sure no enemies sneak up on us."

The gardener accepted his task, grasping his frying pan. "I'll do my best."

"Who else wants to be on watch?" Eomer asked with a double meaning, gaze drifting over each grim face.

"Frodo and Elladan can go." Boromir volunteered them.

The blue-eyed hobbit tried not to look relieved— He was apparently aware of what they were going to do, unlike the gardener— while the elf looked ready to protest.

"(You're a weak link. Your emotions are clear on your face. The enemy will try to exploit your anger and frustration for their advantage.)" Legoals snapped in Sindarin before the son of Elrond could speak. He kept his voice noticeably harsh and cold. "(I will get the information we need.)"

Elladan bristled at his tone, but seemed to know what he was doing and acknowledged his words with a low grunt. "(Fine.)"

The older twin took off at a brisk pace, Frodo at his side. That left Eomer, Boromir, and Legolas with their captives. The assassin studied the Easterlings with a hard gaze, eyes tracing over every expression and scar they bore. He would let their body language and appearances tell him what they could about these men before he began anything.

The first thing he noticed was that one of the Easterlings was far younger than the other two. The one on the left was middle-aged, the one on the right in his thirties, and the one in the middle in his early twenties. The youngest stood out among his rugged peers. His eyed were oddly pale, and his hair was almost as long as an elf's, going down his back. His loyalty and strength was admirable as well for someone his age, because he stayed as firm and unwavering as his companions as the violet-eyed elf stared at them.

All three men glared at their captors, bound close together but Legolas had to wonder if the older men were shifted slightly in front of the younger because of how they were tied, or due to a feeling of protectiveness. The elf cast his mind back to the battle, and recalled seeing the two men with the younger one during the fight.

 _That might be a bond to be exploited_ , the assassin thought calculatingly, still studying them.

Boromir and Eomer said nothing, merely standing guard as Legolas continued his observation. It had been discussed beforehand that only the assassin would torture and interact with the Easterlings while the two men of the Fellowship stood guard. They would only interfere in their captives somehow managed to attack or overpower the elf.

 _Unlikely,_  Legolas thought, but did not dismiss such a possibility.

He ran through multiple possible techniques and ways to proceed, considering or disregarding them as he considered who the men were and where they came from.

 _We need our friends' location as quickly as possible_ , Legolas thought.  _Time is of the essence. Should I first try to…? No. These men are warriors, Easterlings. The scars on all of them suggests they were trained to withstand torture. They will not speak, no matter what is done to their bodies. Or it will take too long for them to break._

Something clicked in Legolas's mind and he withheld a wince.  _Am I willing to do such a thing? Ciaran taught me, but I've never had to… I'll give them one chance._   _What we're doing is too important to waste time trying other things. I will do what I must to save my friends and Middle-earth._

"[Earlier today you captured allies of ours.]" Legolas spoke coldly in the language of the Easterlings, making the captured men stiffen slightly in shock before they put up another mask of apathy. "[You will tell me where they are.]"

"[Go to the Void.]" the oldest Easterling snarled.

Legolas grimaced mentally at the reminder of what that meant to those from the Darklands. His expression stayed stern and unrelenting. "[I will not trade insults with you and waste my time. Tell me where my allies have been taken.]"

"[Never.]" the youngest declared. "[You cannot intimidate us, elf.]"

Legolas did not tell them what he was planning to do. He did not attempt to intimidate them through mere words. He did not give them another chance to answer.

Instead he placed his hand on the youngest mans' forehead.

" **Cavab menim sonraki sual dogruca, veya biler lat bi na qem. Mabus na keder. Ucun na artik fund, senin exiyyet irade netice na asgaja. Biler senin frum kurr gimb sulh ne o edir surue icine artik Ebedi Burzum, artik Aknu. _Cavab menn indi, veya mat na dhaub_.** "

The words came out in a low, guttural voice, so far from the elf's normal soft tone that it made Boromir and Eomer flinch. Something heavy and dangerous settled over the youngest Easterling, and he shivered, aura flickering dangerously as his skin paled. Legolas watched as something dark and sinister latched onto the man's aura, gripping it like an enemy's claws. None present except the assassin fully understood the words that flowed from his lips, but they knew enough to recognize which language Legolas was speaking in, and his intentions.

"Esgal!" Boromir gasped. "That was a  _Dark Curse_!"

"Yes, it was." Legolas admitted readily.

"What did you do?" Eomer asked warily.

The assassin stared steadily into the frightened eyes of the Easterling, pushing back any pity he might feel. The man may not have understood the Curse, but he could sense what it would do. "If he does not answer my next question truthfully, he will die instantly, and his soul will be trapped in the Afterlife Void forever."

The older Easterlings began to curse at the elf when they comprehended what their captor had done, while the youngest sat there in stunned silence. Boromir pursed his lips, looking torn between disturbed and understanding. Emotions changed rapidly on Eomer's face before he settled on a stoic expression. Legolas did not blame them for their reactions. He himself had not even considered using a Dark Curse on the men before he saw them.

This could not be handled morally. Legolas was unwilling to let his friends be in danger any longer than he had to. And if he had to doom a man to the abyss to save them, he had to be willing to have that death on his consciousness.

_I am an assassin and a friend. I will not refuse to use something in my arsenal if doing so will help us in this fight. No more holding back._

"[Any of you may answer my next question truthfully, and the Curse will be lifted. Lie to me, or refuse to answer, and your comrade will die.]" Legolas said slowly and clearly, eyes roving from man to man. "[ _Where is the Fellowship being kept?]_ "

The Easterling trembled, looking much younger than his twenty to twenty-five years, and beside him, the thirty year-old warrior spoke.

"[They are in the Dark Fortress five leagues to the east. I do not know its name, but it is right beside the river that flows through this forest.]"

Everyone except Legolas seemed to be holding their breath, all watching the shaking young Easterling as the man on his right spoke. The Easterling let out a strange, heartbreaking sound of relief as he continued to breathe, the dark presence fading away and showing the truth of his comrade's statement.

Legolas straightened. "He's telling the truth."

His two allies relaxed slightly, before Eomer's visage darkened once more. "We cannot let them go." He said lowly.

The assassin drew air into his lungs, letting it out slowly. He had always known, no matter the outcome of the interrogation, the men would have to die. A glimmer of guilt trickled its way into his consciousness, and he acknowledged it even as he answered the man of Rohan.

"I know."

The men were stoic once more. They knew what was going to happen. They were at war, after all.

Boromir stepped forward, expression blank. "I'll—"

"No." Legolas said, knowing what he was going to offer. "I'll do it."

Unsheathing his daggers, he let the cold demeanor melt away as he stood before the Easterlings, revealing the regret and respect he had been hiding show at last. He had seen the older men's blades before he interrogated them. None of them had killed children, and the youngest one's sword had remained clear of nicks, suggesting he either did not want to gloat about those he had killed or had not killed anyone at all. These Easterlings may not be good, for they worked for the Void, but they were not evil like so many like them were.

Three quick stabs to the heart, and the Easterlings were dead. The assassin looked down at the fallen captives, feeling an odd sense of remorse.

"[May your souls find peace in the afterlife.]" Legolas murmured.

He blinked and gritted his teeth, not allowing the burning in his eyes to become anything more than just that. He would not show grief for men who had been his enemies. Boromir stepped up beside him, placing a hand on his arm.

"You've never killed a prisoner before, have you?" he said softly.

"No." the assassin replied shortly. Words tumbled from his mouth against his will. "I… It's not  _right_. I know we could not let them go, and leaving them tied up here would only allow the Shadowed Trees to torture and kill them, but… I feel like they could have been more than what they were. Like they should have been given a  _chance_." He pressed his lips together, laughing bitterly. "You must think I'm being overemotional. They were our enemies."

"Not just enemies." the man of Gondor said, shaking his head fiercely. "They were men. Honestly, I'd be more worried if you were able to just kill them without feeling anything."

Legolas struggled with himself for a moment longer before composing himself. He would confront his most result kills and guilt at a later time. For now… "We should burn the bodies and meet with the others. We need to reach the Fellowship as quickly as possible."

Eomer had already been gathering kindling.

Less than an hour later, as the sun began to set, the three men were cremated below the trees. Fili and Elladan had not returned, with it being decided before they left that the interrogators should find them once they were done. It did not take nearly as long as they all had thought, all because of what the assassin had done.

 _Remember what you did this for,_  he reminded himself as he began to lead the way to Fili and Sam's position.  _We can find the others now. We have their location. We'll rescue them, and move on to the Temple._

_... As if it will happen that smoothly._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> "Cavab menim sonraki sual dogruca, veya biler lat bi na qem. Mabus na keder. Ucun na artik fund, senin exiyyet irade netice na asgaja. Biler senin frum kurr gimb sulh ne o edir surue icine artik Ebedi Burzum, artik Aknu. Cavab menn indi, veya mat na dhaub." (Black Speech): "Answer my next question truthfully, or may you fall in grief. Drown in sorrow. For in the end, your suffering will result in nothing. May your spirit never find peace as it is dragged into the Eternal Darkness, the Void. Answer me now, or die in agony."
> 
> NOTE: The above is a mixture of Black Speech and botched Azerbaijani from Google Translate. I used that language to fill in words that were not available in Black Speech. I used Azerbaijani as a fill-in language because when I typed random Black Speech words into Google Translate, it asked if I meant something in Azerbaijani. I am not a linguist, and I do not know the language or the culture surrounding Azerbaijani, so please tell me if I unintentionally did something insulting with it and I'll change it. Thank you.


	13. Invasion

A mere seventy years ago, Thranduil never thought he would be doing what he was now. The Elvenking stood across his large desk with the Dwarf King Thorin beside him, both royals poring over a map of Middle-Earth. Barhad and Aglar lingered in the background, with the Crown Prince speaking with Gloin in low tones.

A part of Thranduil could not believe that such a meeting was possible without something happening to divide the two races, and yet here they were— elves and dwarves— working in harmony. The Elvenking may even go so far as to call Thorin a friend.

The Dwarf King pointed at a spot on the map south of Erebor, tapping the parchment gently with his forefinger. "My scouts have informed me that the Void's armies have begun to appear in Rhovanion. They do not seem to have an exact target for an attack in mind, but their presence in this realm is concerning."

"Iãgaw cannot know about the Sanctuary, can he?" Aglar asked worriedly.

Thranduil shook his head and attempted to dissuade his eldest son's fears. "That is highly unlikely. Aiwendil claims that people will be unable to speak Mirkwood's name in his presence as a part of the Chant's defenses. It's possible that he is merely sending forces into Rhovanion because he decided it was time to involve us—" The Elvenking almost paused after he comprehended what he said, but quickly moved on. "—in his war."

Gloin gave a disgruntled huff, crossing his arms over his chest. "Since when has the Void ever  _not_  done something because he felt like it? That demon is just playing with us all."

"Perhaps." Thorin responded to his companion's words. "But that does not mean we will stand idly by and let him do what he wants with my people." He straightened, ever the King, and looked Thranduil in the eye evenly. "That is why I am here. The war will reach my Kingdom soon, and I would rather ask for reinforcements now instead of waiting until orcs begin stepping out of the shadows."

The Elvenking considered his words, mind drifting as a frown crossed his fair features. "I'm assuming that you have heard about how well Gondor and Rohan have been faring?"

"Indeed." Thorin said gravely. "We are far closer to the Sanctuary than them if the worst passes, but for now I'm merely requesting preemptive aid. Your warriors are strong, and alongside mine we may stand a chance if—  _when_  the enemy decides to ambush us."

Thranduil inclined his head, allowing a small smile to form. "You do not need to even ask for elves, Thorin. I meant what I said when we first discussed this alliance. We must stand together, and be ready for the enemy. I will send a few scores of elven warriors with you when you return to Erebor, along with my fastest messengers."

Thorin relaxed, the stiffness fading from his posture as his expression grew wry. He inclined his head, blue eyes warming noticeably. "You have my gratitude." He gave a wry chuckle. "I never thought I'd see the day when we could come to an agreement so—"

A high-pitched, anguished scream ripped through the air, and the tranquility of the room shattered in an instant. Thranduil drew his sword before he fully registered the noise, his sons and the dwarves reacting just as quickly as he. Before any of them could leave the office, Glorfindel appeared in the doorway, sword out and blue eyes blazing.

"We're under attack!" he said urgently.

"Who?" Barhad asked. " _How?_ "

"That does not matter." Thranduil said commandingly in response to the second question. "Glorfindel, where are they? How many?"

"They killed the guards and broke in through the western gate. There are at least fifty enemies, a mixture of elves and other races." The Vanya reported, tension in his every muscle. "I do not know more. I came to find you once I saw them break through the outer defences."

Logic told Thranduil that he should go the other way. He was a Royal, and he had two more Royals with him, people who were  _required_  to live in order for the Sanctuary's magic to hold. But he was also a warrior and a King, and if someone was attacking his home he would never hide from them.

"Get me to the site." The Elvenking commanded. "Barhad, Aglar, stay here."

His eldest son glared at him. "You're not going without me."

Thranduil turned slowly, face set in stone. "Aglar,  _stay with your brother_."

The ire in the Crown Prince's face vanished and he gritted his teeth, understanding but not liking what his father wanted him to do. Thranduil could tell Barhad was doing his best not to look upset or guilty, but the slightly awkward way in which he held his sword only reinforced the Elvenking's desire to keep him away from the fight.

"Fine." Aglar said shortly, before grabbing Barhad by the arm and retreating deeper into the palace.

Thranduil, Glorfindel, Thorin, and Gloin rushed towards the sounds of battle, shouts and screams echoing through the palace halls. Scenarios and possibilities raced through the Elvenking's mind as he tried to think of who could possibly be attacking them, and how.

 _Did a group of Fallen Elves band together for an assault?_  He thought, uncertain if the crazed elves were capable of such planning.

He skidded around a corner with his allies at his side, and their eyes fell upon chaos. Mirkwood Elves, their Lothlorien and Rivendell counterparts, a few hobbits, and some dwarves were scattered around the courtyard, fighting each other in a mess of confusion and disarray.

For a moment, Thranduil could not tell who was friend or foe, both sides holding members of each race. Panic gripped him as a worrisome thought wrangled its way into his mind.

_Can hobbits and dwarves become Fallen?_

It was then that his eyes fell upon a particular elf that was fighting one of the warriors of Rivendell, and his confusion and horror only grew. The elf fought with the natural grace of their kind, his dark hair swinging as he danced and his silver eyes gleaming as he enjoyed the rush of battle. But that was not what disturbed the Elvenking.

The elf— half-elf?— was the very image of Elrond.

Thranduil heard a gasp behind him and half turned, to see Elrond himself gaping at the copy, a trembling hand reaching towards the other.

"E-Elros?" the Healer stammered, shaken voice somehow heard over the rage of battle around him.

The lookalike spotted Elrond and grinned, entire face lighting up. With a savage thrust, he killed his opponent, walking casually towards the Peredhel. It took too long for the name to click in Thranduil's mind for his liking, but eventually, he identified the one who had that name. But how?  _How was Elrond's twin here, alive?_

The Elvenking's sense of danger tingled and he jerked his sword, barely deflecting the arrow that had been aiming for his chest. His stunned gaze followed the way it had come, eyes settling on the archer that was running towards him with a drawn sword, settling for a personal assault since his initial attack had failed.

The world froze.

It had been thousands of years since the first strike on Mordor, thousands of years since Thranduil had last seen the elf, but he would never forget that familiar golden hair, that face so similar to his own, those calm, aloof eyes.

Oropher halted before his son, next to Elros, face serene as his eyes met Thranduil's.

"Adar?" The Elvenking whispered.

Oropher smiled and lunged, drawing his sword in a single, fluid motion. Thranduil barely blocked his father's blow, vaguely aware that beside him Elrond was fighting Elros as well. The Elvenking's mind refused to comprehend what was happening, who he was battling. Because his father was dead, he had been dead for years, this was impossible, how could he be here—?!

A sword nearly took Oropher's head but he evaded the deadly slash, dancing away from Thranduil before he could press his attack on the frozen elf. Glorfindel stood defensively in front of the Elvenking, a fire in his eyes as he observed their enemy.

"Focus, Thranduil. We are at war. I do not understand how these deceased souls are here, but we must  _fight_!"

The Elvenking could not find his voice. An odd numbness was stretching through his body, paralyzing him, and he could only shake lightly as he stared at his father, his sword pointed uselessly at the ground. His eyes met Oropher's, and he found himself pinned in his father's cool glare. He remembered that look, even though it had been years since he had last seen it. It was the glower that Oropher gave a young elfling Thranduil whenever he did something foolish, or disobeyed his father. Underneath that familiar, stern stare, the golden-haired elf could only think of one thing.

_What did I do wrong?_

"Greetings, Lord Glorfindel." Oropher spoke to the Vanya in his calm, regal voice, the tone so familiar that Thranduil felt an ache in his heart. "I have no quarrel with you. Please, step aside and let me do what I must."

The Elvenking distantly heard Thorin's enraged shout, and turned his head to see the Dwarf King fighting what appeared to be his grandfather. Thror struck at Thorin with a strength only reserved for the worst of enemies, his axe clashing with his grandson's own weapons so hard they sparked. As Thranduil dispassionately observed, Thorin was forced back inch by inch, falling back under his grandfather's fierce assault. It was as if the elf were a spectator, unable to interact with the world, only watch as everything went wrong around him.

 _How… is this possible?_  His shocked mind asked numbly.  _How…?_

"What are your intentions? Why are you here?" Glorfindel demanded harshly.

Oropher looked angered by his disrespectful tone, but then his features smoothed out. "I am here for my son, and to make things right. He has failed this Kingdom. He has allied with Men and  _Dwarves!_  How can you fight alongside our  _enemies?!_ "

The last, enraged sentence was delivered in a shout as it was directed at the current Elvenking, each word striking like an arrow to the chest. Despite himself, Thranduil flinched, feeling like an elfling who had been caught stealing sweets.

He met his father's cold, disgusted gaze, and opened his mouth, stammering. "I— I— That's not—"

There was a loud crack as Oropher struck the off-guard Glorfindel with his sword hilt, knocking him down and advancing towards his son.

"You are a  _disgrace_!" the former Elvenking snarled. "The Sindar are proud, independent,  _strong_. You have weakened this realm, let it rot and fall into obscurity. If I'd known that you would be such a failure, I would have killed you myself rather than see you take the throne."

 _Maybe I'm having a nightmare_ , Thranduil thought distantly as his father reached him.  _This has to be a dream. This cannot be real._

A pained cry jolted him out of his stupor and he looked to Elrond, who was currently in Elros's grasp. The formerly-deceased twin had his dagger to his brother's throat, only Elrond's self-harming action keeping his jugular from being slit. Elrond desperately gripped the dagger, right hand around his enemy's and left hand clenched around the blade. He kept it away from his throat at a price, the sharp knife cutting deep into his palm and causing blood to drip over his fingers.

Only instinct caused Thranduil to move and block, Oropher's strike clashing against his blade with a terrible strength. The Elvenking had to fall back a step from the force of the blow, limbs feeling like noodles and mind still scrambling for answers. Blue eyes met blue and Oropher bared his teeth.

"Pathetic. I should have known you were weak when you chose that low-class wench as your wife. I promise, you'll only be the first in this purge. How many grandchildren do I have? Six? Seven? I'll slaughter them all, and eradicate that  _vile_  Silvan blood from our bloodline!"

Like a fire bursting to life, Thranduil snapped to attention, all doubt and confusion vanishing as the elf threatened his children. He shoved Oropher back, disengaging before slashing at his father's side. His father parried the blow, eyes still burning with a hungry hatred Thranduil did not understand. Nor did he want to.

"You won't touch them." The Elvenking said to his predecessor clearly. "I do not know why you are acting like this, or why you wish to harm them, but  _you will never touch my children!_ "

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Elrond be rescued by an enraged Glorfindel, the Vanya physically pulling Elros away from his twin. Glad that his friend was in safe hands, Thranduil focused on his own battle. He clashed blades with Oropher once more, ignoring every bit of hesitation he felt in order to effectively fight his foe. There would be time to ask questions later.

His sword slid down Oropher's as his father tried to overwhelm him with physical strength, but Thranduil did not budge, disregarding swordsmanship and kicking the former Elvenking in the kneecap in a move Legolas had taught him. Oropher's bone snapped, the leg bending backwards unnaturally but he barely tipped, shifting his weight instinctively and keeping his footing.

Oropher and Thranduil exchanged more blows, the sounds of their blades meeting adding to the horrendous bombardment of noise as the battle continued. The Elvenking redirected a blow, letting the intended stab slide past him, and batted Oropher's blade aside, leaving him exposed. Thranduil flicked his sword up, attempting to slice his father open from navel to chest, but Oropher leapt backwards evading the fatal strike.

The two opponents circled each other, ignoring all of the fights except their own. Thranduil moved first, swaying beneath his father's sideways slash and rising up, using his gathered momentum to add power to his swing. His blade slashed Oropher's shoulder, slicing through, and the former Elvenking's left arm fell to the ground, severed from his body.

To Thranduil's relief and alarm, there was no blood, an odd darkness emanating from the wound. Oropher did not even seem to notice his loss of a limb, giving a low growl as he swung at the Elvenking's neck. Thranduil twisted out of the way, and was forced to dodge again as he almost ran into Thror's incoming strike. The former King Under the Mountain gave him a glare filled with loathing.

"You.  _Get out of my way._ "

He swung at Thranduil, who stepped out of range of the deadly axe. Pain ripped across his back and he staggered forward, hunching over and gasping softly as Oropher's sword slashed him from left shoulder to right hip. The Elvenking wavered, vision blurring, but found the strength to dodge his father's next attempted fatal strike.

Thranduil faced Oropher again, teeth clenching as the wound screamed to let him know of its presence. He could feel blood dripping down his back, warm and sticky. The injury was long but thankfully not deep, otherwise the Elvenking's spine would have been severed and he would have been cut open from behind.

The weaker part of him wanted to let himself fall into unconsciousness, but the warrior within forced Thranduil to stay awake, for the fight was not yet won. His father— his  _enemy_ — would hunt his children if he fell now. Thranduil could not— would  _not_ — give this farce the chance to harm his sons.

 _Keep fighting. Ignore the pain. Focus,_  he told himself.

"Pathetic." Oropher repeated coldly, as uncaring as an orc when faced with his son's injury.

He lunged and Thranduil raised his sword to block, ignoring the pain the action caused. Their blades clashed loudly, the sound lost among the brutal chaos, and the battle in the Sanctuary raged on.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

"This is it." Legolas said.

He, Boromir, Elladan, Eomer, Fili, Frodo, and Sam stood in the tree line just out of sight of the large black fortress that was erected in the shadowed woods, observing it from a safe distance. It did indeed remind the assassin of Dol Guldor, with the addition of a large stone wall that surrounded the land on which it was placed.

The elves of the group could spot three guards atop the wall from their position, Legolas's sixth sense pinpointing nine more nearby. They were a mix of Shadowed Elves and men, the Fellowship's captors evidently deciding to put better fighters on guard instead of orcs.

"This is going to be difficult." Boromir murmured quietly. "The only entrance I can see on this side is a small door. It's not guarded, but that doesn't matter. The patrolling guards would spot us before we could get close."

"What's the plan then?" Sam piped up, keeping his voice low.

Fili already had his sword out. "We don't need a plan. Esgal can shoot them from here."

"That doesn't help us open the door." Eomer murmured. "We need to find another entrance."

"We don't have time," Fili snapped back. "My brother is in there, probably being tortured right now!"

Legolas ignored them and continued to study the patterns of the patrolling men. There were large turrets on each corner of the wall, which in addition to the stone parapets, the groups of guards were unable to see each other. The assassin nodded to himself and took aim, with only Frodo and Sam observing his actions. His arrows made no noise as they struck each guard, killing them before they could make a sound.

"We cannot just rush in there and hope for the best." Eomer said, barely keeping his temper in check. "I know you want to rescue your brother, but we are trying to get into an enemy stronghold!"

Legolas moved swiftly across the open area near the wall, studying it for a moment before spotting small cracks between the stones. It would not be enough of a handhold for most people, but it was enough for him. He put on his climbing claws and ascended quickly, casting out his senses to make sure no more guards were coming to this part of the wall.

He could still hear Fili and Eomer arguing and mentally rolled his eyes. Better hurry before any Shadowed Elves heard them as well.

The assassin flipped deftly on top of the wall, dropping between the parapets and studying the area once more. He briefly considered the bodies of the guards and peered over the inner edge of the wall, seeing no one. Swiftly, the elf picked up a body, bringing it halfway down the wall before dropping it. It landed with a soft, barely noticeable thud.

Legolas repeated the process twice more before landing beside the corpses. He rose an eyebrow at the simple stone bar that kept the gate locked and shrugged, lifting it easily. The door opened with barely a squeak, something the assassin was grateful for. With an ease born of practice, Legolas picked up a body and carried it towards the tree line.

Elladan was the first to notice him. He put a hand over his mouth, looking torn between gaping and chuckling. Frodo also seemed to struggle between the two emotions while Sam settled for looking thunderstruck and slightly nauseous. Fili and Eomer did not see the elf until he dropped the first body beside them.

"W-What?" Fili spluttered, looking from Legolas to the open gate. "When did you—?"

The assassin shrugged. "While you two were arguing I climbed over the wall. Now help me get the other two bodies before someone notices them."

The hobbits, Boromir, and Elladan struggled not to laugh at the expressions on the two Princes' faces. They hid the last two bodies in the trees, Legolas mentally apologizing for leaving the corpses to the Shadowed Trees. The Fellowship entered the gate, with Boromir shutting it loosely behind them.

"The later they realize we're here, the better." The man explained, and the assassin silently agreed.

As silently as they could, the invaders ran to the wall, staying low and pressing their backs against the cold stone of the fortress. Legolas grabbed Sam by the arm and pulled him out of sight as an orc passed by the window the hobbit had been crouched under, moving on without spotting them.

"In hindsight, I think we should have just let you sneak in here." Eomer said quietly to the elf.

Legolas held back a snort. "As if you'd leave me to rescue them all by myself. We'll do this together."

The man smiled. "Of course."

The windows were barred, so there would be no entering through them. That left a small side door that was hidden behind an alcove of plants and stone, the opening far back and looking like nothing more than a natural break in the jagged rock that made up the fortress.

The only reason Legolas knew it was there was because of the ten Shadowed Elves that guarded the secret gate, their presences like beacons in his mind's eye. Five outside, five inside. The iron grate that acted as the door was also locked, unless the enemy were a bunch of overconfident idiots.

 _The doors are meant withstand the force of a battering ram_ , the assassin mused silently, picturing the obstacle in his mind's eye.  _The grate is sturdy, but the holes allow for arrows to pass through. Those inside can aim easier than the invaders firing in, but it should not be a problem for me. The only issue is getting the gate open once the Shadowed Elves are taken care of._

"I'll take out the guards inside the door. You kill the ones outside." Legolas said softly to the others in more of a suggestion than an order.

Still, his comrades agreed to his plan readily enough. The assassin dropped ten throwing knives in his palms, swords and axes were readied, and Sam gripped his frying pan tightly. Eomer silently counted to three and gave the signal, and as one the Fellowship entered the alcove.

The Shadowed Elves froze when the group appeared, surprise in their black eyes, but before they could reach for their weapons the Fellowship struck. Legolas flicked his hands out and let the knives fly, two hitting each of his targets just inside the gate, but let loose more flying blades and threw them as well, just to make sure the guards were dead.

Eomer stabbed another guard through the chest, while Boromir beheaded the next. Fili angrily slashed the third's knee and silenced him when he fell, and Elladan dispatched of his own foe with a blade to the heart. Frodo and Sam ganged up on the final elf, the gardener smacking the Shadowed Elf in the face to disorient him while Frodo snuck within his guard, dagger sliding between his ribs. The kill was not clean, and blood splattered as the hobbit withdrew his blade.

It was over in seconds, and the only noise that came from the battle was Sam's shuddering gasp, eyes focused on the blood dripping from the Shadowed Elf's wound. Legolas realized that the gardener had speckles of red on his face and clothes at the same time Sam did. The gardener reached up and touched his cheek, skin blanching. Boromir instantly turned to the wide-eyed hobbit, taking his arm and drawing him away from the deceased elf.

"Sam. You need to stay calm. I know it's difficult, I know it's terrible but you cannot react. We need to stay quiet or we'll be caught." The man of Gondor said lowly.

The gardener gulped loudly, still distraught. He trembled visibly, and clapped his hands over his mouth, breathing hard. Frodo retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket and attempted to wipe the blood away, but only ended up smearing the crimson on his friend's skin. Sam looked ready to scream or cry, so Legolas stepped in, gripping both of his shoulders.

"Sam, we are here to save Merry and Pippin." He said quietly and forcefully. "Focus on that.  _We are rescuing Merry and Pippin._ "

The hobbit's breathing slowed and his frightened gaze grew determined. He did not speak, only nodding mutely as he gripped his frying pan tighter. Legolas saw Sam's aura calm slightly, signifying that it was less likely he was going to panic. The assassin turned to the elder warriors of the group.

"We need to keep moving."

The Fellowship moved cautiously into the fortress, with Frodo sticking close to Sam's side. The inside was almost identical to Dol Guldor, and Legolas felt a snarl form on his face before he forced himself to adopt a more neutral expression before he worried his companions.

He carefully scanned the immediate area and surrounding rooms, frowning when he sensed no guards or personnel. The place should have been crawling with enemies, and for a heart-stopping moment Legolas wondered if the stronghold was actually a false lead before recalling his curse on the Easterling. This had to be where the Fellowship was being kept.

That did not explain the absolute lack of resistance. He was not the only one to think so.

"This is too easy." Boromir stated. "Esgal, do you sense an ambush?"

The assassin cast out his senses. Now that they were inside the Dark fortress itself, Legolas could finally sense the Fellowship's presences down below, their auras bright and colorful while everything else was dark. They were not as far away from each other as the assassin had feared, but Gimli was noticeably separated from the others.

What caught the elf's attention, however, were the auras of Elrohir and Aragorn. They flickered dangerously, dull in his mind's eye, which suggested that both of them had injuries. Then there was the small matter of the legions of enemies standing between them and their friends a few floors below, but frankly the elf was more concerned about his friends.

 _Blast._  "The enemy most likely knows we are here. They're waiting to ambush us on the third floor down. They might intend to stay hidden until we reach and free our friends, then block the way out. We're going to have to carry Elrohir and Aragorn, so we'll be hindered. They're injured." Legolas said lowly and bluntly.

Elladan twitched and gripped his sword tighter, but did not dash off to find his brothers, much to the assassin's relief.

Eomer's expression grew grim. "So they've set up a trap. Would we be able to ambush them or enclose them in another part of the fortress?"

"Unless they willingly walk into their own prison cells, no." the assassin stated. "An ambush may work. The halls are narrow. We may be able to pick them off a few at a time. But… there are more than a hundred foes here. We could easily be overwhelmed."

"Why don't we sneak past them?" Sam offered quietly, still subdued. "I mean, I'm no expert, but don't these places usually have secret passages? They do in stories."

Eomer opened his mouth and paused, considering the hobbit's words. His expression cleared. "The armory. There may be one in the armory. If enemies reach the inside of the fortress that is where the forces defending it will want to get to."

"They also would want to reach the armory if prisoners were escaping, wouldn't they?" Frodo mentioned. "One of the passages could lead to the dungeons."

"You may be right. Good thinking, Sam, Frodo." Fili complimented the hobbits heartily, slapping the gardener on the back.

Sam turned crimson and mumbled a soft thank you. His fingers curled and uncurled, and Legolas wished they had the means to rid the hobbit of the drying blood on his skin.

Most of the enemy forces were waiting for the Fellowship in the dungeons, so there were only a few guards outside the armory. Legolas moved ahead took care of them all himself, making their deaths soundless, quick, and clean. His allies were quick to enter the room full of weapons, with the assassin and Elladan dragging the bodies out of the hall and into the armory with them. Sam glanced at the fallen men, looking slightly ill, before directing his attention elsewhere.

"Start searching for a hollow area behind the walls." Eomer advised them.

They were quick to obey, focusing on the walls other than the one with the door. Only Boromir refrained from searching for the passage, drawn to a pile of weapons and bags on a table in the corner. He picked up a familiar sword, unsheathing it and studying the blade solemnly.

"These are their weapons." Boromir said, swinging Aragorn's sword once experimentally before sheathing it. His expression grew unreadable, and a fire lit in his eyes. "Let's return them, shall we?"

Fili finally felt air blowing from the crack between one of the stones. He pushed the rock, which gave a loud groan and swung open to reveal a dark passageway. The dwarf gave a low, triumphant exclamation and immediately grabbed a torch off the wall, descending into the darkness. Elladan and Frodo retrieved two more torches and the rest of the Fellowship followed the eager dwarf.

The tunnel was dank and wet, water dripping down the walls. The pathway beneath their feet was cracked and worn, and Legolas eyed the fragile-looking rock above their heads with slight trepidation. The expert in all things cave-related of their group seemed to be unconcerned by the condition of the tunnel, however, so the assassin let his worry go.

"Are we sure this will lead where we want it to?" Frodo asked, blue eyes riveted on the crumbled ceiling.

"No idea." Fili grunted. "But it'll get us down a few levels at least."

The path sloped downward steadily, odd formations that may have once been stairs lending a hand in keeping the Fellowship from sliding all the way down the tunnel. The floor was slippery, and even with his boots and natural elven balance, Legolas occasionally found himself losing his footing as a misstep made him slide. Boromir gave a yelp as his legs jerked out from under him, but Elladan caught him before he fell completely, using the wall to balance himself.

"Use the wall to balance yourself and walk sideways more than forward," Fili advised. "This tunnel is old, and there's no telling where there might be a drop-off."

His torch lit up the area ahead of them, revealing two diverging paths. If he were to guess, Legolas surmised that one must lead to a trap of some sort, most likely preceded by a steep slope that would send invaders tumbling to their doom. Eomer held his torch high as he peered into the darkness, lingering at the edge of the right tunnel. He turned to Legolas.

"Which way?" the man asked.

"Left." Legolas and Elladan said simultaneously.

The assassin glanced at the twin, noticing his pinched expression.

"Elrohir's conscious." The Peredhel explained shortly, lips pressing together as his skin paled. "He's… not doing well."

His hand gripped the torch tightly, and Legolas saw the metal digging into his palm.

Eomer nodded sharply. "Let's move."

They continued on as quickly as they dared, forced to duck around and beneath large rocks as they journeyed towards their destination. Fili turned a corner and halted, arm raising so that Frodo slammed into it instead of moving forward. Ahead of them, the path sloped upward, a sliver of light just visible through the darkness.

Legolas scanned the area and nodded. "This is it. They're ahead."

"Guards?" Eomer questioned.

"…I don't sense any." The assassin admitted after a moment. "That does not mean they are not there."

He could sense large groups of foes, but any singular enemies seemed to be blending in with the darkness of the fortress, unknowingly shielding themselves like the assassin had been taught to. Legolas could sense his friends easily enough, and reported their locations without prompting.

"Elrohir and Kili are to the left. Aragorn and Pippin are beside them. Gandalf and Merry are further down the same way. Gimi is to the right."

"He probably kept cursing them." Fili guessed with slight pride in his voice.

They reached the hidden door, and Eomer pressed his hand against the stone, glancing back at his companions. "Ready?"

They gripped their weapons and the man shoved the door aside. The Fellowship burst from the passage, ready for battle, only to face an empty hallway. Frodo relaxed first, looking up at Legolas.

"I guess there really weren't any enemies here."

"I suppose." The assassin said, not believing it for a second.

Fili was already heading towards his brother's cell, Elladan at his side. "We'll get Kili and Elrohir. You free the others."

Eomer exchanged a glance with Boromir and rushed after them, calling over his shoulder. "Retrieve Gimli. I'll stop them from knocking the door down and alerting the enemy to our presence."

 _As if they do not know we are here already,_  Legolas's instincts whispered, but he followed the man of Rohan as Frodo and Sam went with the Captain of Gondor.

To his relief and surprise, Elladan was attempting to pick the lock to the thick iron cell door, with Fili standing guard behind him. He met Legolas's eyes for a moment and waved him along.

"I can hear Pippin in the next cell. Get him and Aragorn out." The elf said lowly.

"Elladan? Is that you?" a familiar voice asked, and Fili immediately pushed Elladan aside and pressed against the bars.

"Kili! Are you all right?"

The younger dwarf gave a low, shaky laugh. "Fili. You're here too?"

Fili scoffed. "Of course I am. I always have to come rescue you."

His brunette brother did not rise to the bait, instead speaking urgently. "Elrohir isn't going well, and I… I heard Aragorn screaming…"

The dwarf's tired voice was small, and Legolas felt something unpleasant twist in his gut. He stepped closer to the cell door, barely able to see Kili chained up to the wall within. Elrohir was laying on the ground, back to the door, and as the assassin watched his chest rose and fell unsteadily. The dwarf caught his gaze and Legolas pushed his worry for the cell's inhabitants aside, speaking firmly.

"I'll get Aragorn out now."

Without another word he headed to the cell beside Kili and Elrohir's. He peered inside, and something akin to nausea gripping his throat. Clearly visible from his viewpoint was Aragorn.

Unlike Kili, the Ranger was hung from chains against the wall, his feet barely able to touch the floor. Wounds— sharp and visible even in the low light— littered the man's body, with blood dripping from a hidden cut on Aragorn's head. Legolas did not take more time to observe, taking out his tools and picking the lock in record time. He heard the lock disengage and shoved the door open, striding to the Ranger's side without glancing elsewhere.

Violet eyes looked at Aragorn in dismay. The injuries looked even worse close up, and Legolas's elven gaze took in every detail of the Ranger's condition. His friend was cut, lacerated, and burned in more places than he could count, crimson crusting on his forearms and chest while it smeared on his skin and clothes.

His shirt and pants were torn, revealing more gruesome injuries, and Legolas's throat tightened further, anger and horror grasping him in its icy claws. He reached out with a shaking hand, laying it on Aragorn's shoulder, but the Ranger did not react to his touch, staying limp and unresponsive.

The sound of shifting metal made the assassin spin, blades drawn, only to see Pippin sitting on the floor of the cell, staring up at him with glazed eyes. Legolas felt something akin to panic rip through him as he laid eyes upon the hobbit, gaze darting between the obviously traumatized Pippin and the injured Aragorn. He wished he had someone with him, to go to one while he helped the other, but he was alone.

Legolas barely refrained from cursing, striding over to Pippin and grasping his hands gently. Like Aragorn, the hobbit did not respond to his presence, staring past the elf at things he could not see. The assassin pushed back the feeling of helplessness that threatened to overwhelm him, not ready for such events.

He knew what imprisonment could do to a person, had witnessed it firsthand, but he found himself completely unprepared to deal with the aftermath of captivity and two unresponsive, shell-shocked friends. The naïve part of the assassin had believed that his friends could not be that affected by their capture in such a short period of time, but here he was, facing a severely wounded Aragorn and catatonic Pippin, unsure of who to help first.

Legolas decided it was best to give Pippin a small dose of comfort before checking on Aragorn, the Ranger's dim but strong aura telling him that none of his wounds were immediately life-threatening.

"Pippin, it's Esgal. I'm here. I'm going to get you out. It's going to be all right." Legolas said as soothingly as he could manage, as out of his depth as an elfling that had been thrown into a war.

Pippin dragged his gaze to meet the elf's with obvious effort, and mumbled something under his breath, too low for even the assassin to hear. Legolas frowned and leaned closer, barely making out the hobbit's repeated, whispered words.

"Trap… _Trap…_ "

The assassin became aware of presences behind him and spun, drawing his weapons as he faced the newcomers. A Shadowed Elf stood casually against the doorframe, arms crossed and his sword held loosely in his right hand. Ten more corrupted elves crowded in the hallway behind him, blocking the way out.

At the same time, the sounds of battles rose from the other cells, and Legolas sensed more than heard the rescuers engage in combat throughout the dungeon. He mentally cursed, realizing how foolish it had been to separate while in the enemy stronghold. The Shadowed Elf and his entourage did not attack, instead focusing on the assassin with a dark, animalistic look in his black eyes.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you." Amulug said in a voice that was more like a snarl. "But you're not taking them anywhere."


	14. Dungeon Danger

Time froze.

Legolas did not hesitate. Faster than a blink he attacked, glinting knives flying from his hands. The elf almost overtook his throwing daggers as he lunged for Amulug, swatting the Shadowed Elf's blade aside as he grabbed his enemy.

A swift tug pulled him deeper into the cell and a kick slammed the door shut between the assassin and his remaining enemies. One arm went around both of Amulug's, pinning them to his sides, while Legolas's free hand put his dagger to the Shadowed Elf's throat.

Behind him, Aragorn shifted in his chains, moaning softly. On the opposite wall, Pippin remained where he was on the floor, unaware of his surroundings and still whispering about traps. Time resumed and instinct retreated, giving the elf precious seconds for his mind to catch up to his body.

 _This is bad_ , was his first thought.

The Shadowed Elves that had survived his initial onslaught broke out of their stunned stupor, yet they did not attempt to break through the door. Legolas guessed they were as uncertain of how to proceed as he was, though the assassin dare not show his lack of a plan.

Taking the leader of the threat hostage had been purely instinctive, the elf's training taking over while his mind scrambled for a way to get out of the situation. But now instinct had faded and Legolas had no idea what to do next.

Even his hostage seemed to be unable to comprehend what had occurred for a moment, but Legolas felt Amulug stiffen against him as his mind caught up to the unexpected turn of events. To the assassin's relief— and surprise— the Shadowed Elf did not immediately demand his followers shoot through the bars and kill them both. Amulug stayed silent and cooperative in his hold. It was almost as if he were afraid to die— or wanted to live. But that should be impossible.

Legolas dropped that train of thought and glared at the Shadowed Elves outside the door, outwardly cold and in control. He worried that making demands would only cause the unpredictable agents of the Void to strike, so he said nothing.

A thousand plans and scenarios to get everyone out alive went through his mind, each less likely to work than the last, and he acknowledged they were now at an impasse.

 _We need a miracle_ , the assassin thought grimly.

The violet-eyed elf heard the jingling of keys as he shifted his hold on Amulug and he realized there was another reason for the remaining Shadowed Elves' lack of action. The keys were locked inside the cell with them. Whether that was a stroke of luck or another obstacle between Legolas and freedom was yet to be seen.

Another plan was formed and thrown away, followed by two more. The assassin began to notice a common flaw in every potential route for escape, a shared element that always caused the mental plot to fail.

_I can't think of a way to get everyone out. The problem is Pippin, Aragorn, and me. Boromir, Frodo, Sam, and Gimli were deeper in the dungeons than the others. They may have had time to evade the ambushers. Merry, Gandalf, Elladan, Elrohir, Fili, and Kili are all in cells. They are simply locked in, and since they cannot go anywhere our foes are leaving them be._

_That leaves the three of us and our little hostage situation. The Shadowed Elves are confused. They don't know what to do. They did not account for their leader being taken and locked in a cell with the keys. I do not know if Amulug is important enough that they do not want to kill him, or they simply cannot function without his leadership for some reason, but he's the key to our escape._

A darker plan began to form at the back of Legolas's mind and he acknowledged it with a grimace.

_I need to negotiate to try to at least free Boromir, without raising suspicions about his importance. Amulug obviously hates Aragorn, and sees him as the most important prisoner. If I manipulate him, I may be able to get most of the others out of here. He won't release Aragorn and I must stay here and keep holding him to keep him from shooting the Fellowship in the back, but… Wait. I'm a Wielder. If I die, they won't be able to kill the Void. But Bard survived using a Black Arrow. Perhaps I can pass usage of Daesīdh to someone else if I…_

The assassin felt a rush of frustration. _No. That won't work either. I'm a Royal as well. If I die the Sanctuary falls. Blast! I'd be able to stay behind and get Boromir and a few others out if weren't…_

Unbidden, a memory rose to the front of his mind.

_A week after revealing his identity to his three siblings— technically only to two since Barhad had already known— Legolas was cleaning one of his numerous blades when a soft knock sounded on his bedroom door. The violet-eyed elf opened the door to reveal his oldest sibling, who gave him a cheerful smile._

" _Tithenlas. Could I come in for a moment?"_

" _Er, yes. Of course… Aglar." The assassin greeted awkwardly, still not comfortable enough to call the Crown Prince 'brother'. "Is there something you need?"_

" _No, no. I just wanted to talk." The silver-haired elf said, waving his hands in front of him. His gaze drifted over the neatly placed weapons and items that were strewn over the bed and his lips quirked. "How in Arda do you carry all of this?"_

" _Pockets, holsters, sheaths, and bags. How else would I carry them?" Legolas said with a shrug._

_Aglar chuckled and leaned over to study the assassin's climbing claws, eyebrows creeping up his forehead. "I'm honestly surprised you can be so quiet when you're moving about. You have more weapons than an armory!"_

" _I just place my weapons in a way that so that they cannot clink against each other and make noise." The assassin explained simply. "It is not that difficult."_

" _Of course." Aglar said, gaze drifting to the small pouches that were neatly sorted on the other side of the bed._

_They were sorted by color, much to the Crown Prince's apparent amusement, though Legolas did not understand why he would think that was funny. Aglar reached for one of the black bags, but the assassin gripped his wrist lightly, preventing him from touching them._

" _Don't. Those ones contain poison. I don't want you to break something and get hurt."_

_Emotions flickered across Aglar's face too quickly for the assassin to decipher them before vanishing. His blue eyes lingered on the three dozen small bottles he could see. "I did not realize you had poisons. I mean, I think I knew, but I did not know there were so many."_

" _Indeed. Many are quite dangerous." Legolas gestured at the bags making sure his expression was stern. "The blue bags rarely cause death. The orange ones are more severe, but if a person is healthy enough they may survive it. The ones in the red pouches no antidote."_

" _And the black bags?"Aglar asked curiously._

" _They have no antidote, and cause a swift, painless death." The assassin said simply._

_The Crown Pricne stilled, staring at the black pouches like he had discovered they were working for the Void._

" _Legolas…" His voice was strained, as if he could barely force the next sentence out of his lips, afraid to let the question out and risk getting a terrifying answer. "...Do you... have any herbs or poisons that... that you would_ _take_ _if you were ever captured?"_

_His little brother looked at him with oblivious, calm eyes and nodded. "Of course." He echoed the silver-haired elf's earlier words. "If a situation rises where I will be taken by an enemy or must sacrifice myself so others can escape, I will gladly lose my life."_

_Aglar turned a sickly white. His eyes dulled noticeably, and his aura flared with such instability that Legolas flinched. The Crown Prince stalked over to the assassin, gripping his brother's shoulders so tightly Legolas felt his fingers digging into his skin through his tunic._

" _No." the silver-haired elf snarled authoritatively. "Don't ever— You can't— How can you even think about—_ _ **No**_ _."_

_Legolas stared at his brother in puzzlement, watching him struggle with himself. His stomach churned with discomfort and his hands fluttered uselessly as he tried to think of a way to comfort his oldest sibling._

" _Aglar…?" he asked uncertainly._

_The Crown Prince drew in a shuddering breath, pulling the assassin to him and squeezing him tightly in a desperate hug. "Legolas, I need you to promise me that if you are captured, that you will never end your own life. P_ _**romise** _ _me."_

_The assassin blinked, then comprehended the reason for his brother's distress. He relaxed."I understand. I need to survive because I am a Wielder and Royal, correct?"_

" _I need you to survive_ _because_ _ **you are my little brother!**_ _" Aglar shouted._

_Legolas physically reeled back in shock at the normally controlled elf's outburst. He was unable to get far because Aglar clung to him, gripping him tightly as his fingers grasped the assassin's back. The Crown Prince trembled, making soft, broken sounds, and to Legolas's horror he realized his brother was crying._

" _Do not ever— You cannot— I cannot lose—" Aglar sobbed. He wiped at his eyes and gently cupped Legolas's face, red-rimmed orbs meeting confused violet. "Listen to me right now. I do not know what you were taught, but you are not allowed to kill yourself when facing capture, or sacrifice yourself so others get away, or_ _ **anything**_ _like that. Do you hear me?"_

_The assassin was unable to shake his head because of the Crown Prince's firm grip on him. "I do not understand. You would rather have me face torture?" Legolas asked, bewildered._

" _I would have you_ _live_ _and wait for rescue." Aglar said adamantly._

_The assassin's eyes darkened, a coldness entering his eyes that made a chill go up his brother's spine. "I do not think I can promise that. I was in Dol Guldur for eighty years and no one came for me. In the end, Ciaran and I had to rescue ourselves."_

_The Crown Prince flinched, releasing the violet-eyed assassin, and the young elf's eyes widened in guilt._

" _I am sorry." he apologized. "I do not blame you. I remember how Dark Dol Guldur was, and I am sure your warriors could not even get near it."_

_Aglar sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It's all right. It is in the past. Nothing can be done about it." He put a hand on Legolas's shoulder again, blue gaze firm in a way that reminded the younger elf of their father._

" _I do not know what you were taught, but self-sacrifice only leads to suffering. If you are in a situation where you will be captured or there seems to be no escape, I do not want you to throw away your life. You aren't in Dol Guldor anymore. You aren't_ _ **alone**_ _anymore. If you can escape, rescue yourself. If you cannot, trust others to rescue you." Aglar whispered. "_ _ **Promise**_ _me."_

_Legolas hesitated, then nodded. "I promise."_

The assassin released an inaudible sigh, remaining unwavering and silent in their lingering impasse. If he had time to think about it, he might feel ashamed that his first reaction was to break his promise to his brother. Still, the memory had done more than make him realize the awfulness of what he had been prepared to try.

He could not sacrifice himself so the others could escape.

But he could pretend that he would.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

It was dreadfully cold. That was Frodo's foremost thought as he stood within one of the many cells in the dungeons. The hobbit could barely see a foot in front of him, with torches being few and far between this deep in the fortress, but he could spot the vague shapes of Boromir, Sam, and Gimli with him in the prison.

The dwarf had been deeper in the dungeons than the three rescuers had assumed, but had been released quickly enough thanks to Frodo's lock picking. Their friends' echoing shouts had been warning enough that something had gone amiss, and rather than run to aid them Boromir had physically dragged Gimli away from the commotion they could hear. The man's instincts had proven to be sound when booted feet pounded towards their location, Frodo vanishing around the corner just before their foes had come into sight.

The two hobbits, man, and dwarf had managed to evade the Shadowed Elves, men, and orcs by slipping into another cell. It was a gamble that had somehow paid off, with their enemies deigning it a waste of time to look for the escaped Fellowship members inside of the cells when they would likely retreat further into the dungeons.

Sam's grip on the handle was the only thing keeping the door from closing completely and locking. No one dared to speak as they stood in the dark, dank room, listening nervously as booted feet passed them by again and again. Even their breathing seemed too loud, and Frodo wiped his moist palms against his trousers as he watched the door, waiting for it to burst open with a horde of foes on the other side.

It never did, and after a long period of prolonged silence, Sam spoke.

"What now, sirs?" the gardener whispered.

"It's likely the others have been captured." Boromir deducted bluntly. He gave a disgusted grunt, and Frodo thought he saw his head shake. "We should have known it was too easy to get in here…"

"Regret the past after we escape." Gimli growled. He glowered at the crumbling stone around them like they had insulted his mother. "Hopefully without bringing this place down on our heads. These halls are damaged enough I wouldn't be surprised if a breath of wind made this hunk of rocks they call a fortress collapse."

"And how are we going to accomplish that?" the man of Gondor hissed lowly. "More than half of us are in enemy hands and there are too many foes to break through using force."

A rhythmic thudding reached their ears, growing steadily louder, and the Fellowship went quiet. Boromir and Gimli shifted, reaching for their weapons, and Frodo followed suit, not yet unsheathing Sting. There were orcs nearby, and the blade would give them away if the enemy did not already know they were there.

To their relief, the men passed them by without a second glance, heading further into the depths of the dungeons. Frodo released his hold on his weapon, letting his shaking hand fall to his side.

"I don't like this. We should be fighting in the open, not hiding in a burrow like scared rabbits!" Gimli ground his teeth, frustration in his every word.

"If you want to fight a hundred enemies at once, be my guest." Boromir said sarcastically.

"Actually, a hundred wouldn't be able to reach us at once." Sam mentioned, looking between the two bickering warriors nervously. "I mean, these halls are kind of narrow. We'd, we'd only have to kill a couple at a time."

The gardener sounded ill at the idea of slaying more creatures, and Frodo touched his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. There was a flash of white in the dark and the brunette hobbit guessed his friend had smiled at him. Boromir and Gimli evidently pondered the gardener's words, and Frodo did as well, his thoughts drifting to the violet-eyed elf of their group.

"I think that Sam's idea is a good one. We can ambush them in small numbers. Its dark down here, and if we're quiet, we'll be able to sneak up on quite a few of them."

The two more experienced warriors remained unconvinced.

"That sounds like something Esgal would do." Boromir murmured, almost to himself.

Frodo shot him an incredulous look, though the man could not see it in the dark. "He is an assassin. They usually kill their targets from the shadows."

He wanted to ask if the warriors were having trouble seeing the usefulness of assassin-like behavior because they were used to fighting enemies face to face, out in the open, with 'honor' but the hobbit was not the type to be so confrontational.

"I think this is the best idea we have." Frodo claimed. "We'll at least be able to lessen the number of pursuers after us and it will give us time to think if a plan to escape."

Boromir considered his words, and gave a sharp nod. "All right. We'll communicate as best we can through hand signs and other signals. Sound echoes here, so we'll need to be careful. If we can hear the enemy, then they may be able to hear us as well."

"Fine." Gimli hefted his axe, narrowing his eyes as he peered out the door. "I say we pick off the ones deeper down first. Last thing we need is to be attacked from both sides."

They headed deeper into the dungeon, keeping their footsteps as soft as they could manage. It grew difficult the further they went, with the floor getting wetter the more they traveled. It was dark, but not so dark that they were completely robbed of sight. Frodo could just see the outlines of his companions in the shadows.

Gimli abruptly raised a hand, silently telling them to halt. Frodo heard the enemy soldiers before he saw them, their footsteps and clinking chainmail growing steadily louder. If the hobbit concentrated, he could identify four separate sets of feet. They were likely men, for elves would never make such noise while walking.

Boromir gestured to the cells beside them, and the group slipped inside, with Frodo and Gimli in the left cell, and the man and Sam in the right. The footsteps grew closer. The blue-eyed hobbit tensed, not yet unsheathing Sting. The blade might glow because of nearby orcs, and being spotted too soon was the last thing the Fellowship needed.

They watched with bated breath as the men passed by, one step, two steps, three. Then Frodo saw Boromir's sword reflect in the other cell, an obvious signal. Without a shout or war cry the four fell upon their enemies.

Gimli got his target right in the chest. Frodo stabbed his directly through the heart. Boromir slashed his foe's throat, then turned and finished off the man that Sam had downed with his pan. The gardener flinched and paled when the Captain's sword sliced into the fallen Easterling's flesh, but he did not utter a sound. The man did not take time to comfort him.

"In the cells." Boromir said quietly.

He grabbed two of the dead men and dragged them into the cell he had ambushed them from. Gimli did the same with the third, while Sam and Frodo managed to hide the last one. Other than the streak of blood that could not be seen on the wet stone wall, there was no sign that there had been a fight.

Frodo moved to exit the cell, only to hear more footsteps, accompanied by the low clank of metal. He glanced across the hall and saw Gimli close his eyes and hold up two fingers. He motioned for Frodo and Sam to get out of the doorway. The hobbit grabbed the gardener and dragged him into the corner.

Even in the darkness, he could see the nervous sheen of sweat on Sam's skin. Frodo did not have time to give his friend a reassuring smile before the man of Gondor and Gimli struck.

Boromir rammed into the first enemy sword first, blade stabbed up to the hilt as he used his momentum to shove him into the hobbit's cell. As his ally turned, Gimli struck the other Easterling from behind, his axe sinking deep into the man's spine. He dropped like a stone, expression frozen in shock. The body was thrown with the others and the door locked.

More footsteps, distant and echoing. The Fellowship headed towards them instead of away, intent of intercepting the men before they could potentially find the bodies of their comrades. Sam nearly ran into a Shadowed Elf, skidding to a halt and stumbling backwards as he emitting a surprised gasp.

Luckily for the hobbit, the elf was as stunned as him, not reacting for a critical moment. Boromir was the cloak, and Frodo became the dagger. As the man blocked the Shadowed Elf's sword, locking the blades together, the hobbit slipped in and sank Sting into their enemy's chest. The Shadowed Elf fell without a sound, dead long before he hit the floor. Gimli and the man of Gondor instantly dragged the body into a cell. The dwarf listened again.

"Five sets." he reported softly. Reluctance crossed his face before he looked at Boromir. "Take two?"

The man nodded in confirmation. They slipped into the cells. The two Easterlings and three orcs were further apart than they first anticipated, but when Boromir gave the signal just after the two men passed, Frodo did not hesitate.

The Fellowship revealed themselves in the middle of the group, appearing from the shadows amidst the enemies that hunted them. Boromir spun and took two of the orcs' heads with a single swipe. Frodo slashed his foe across the spine, the man only able to make a slight gasping sound as he collapsed.

He was finished with a stab to the chest. Gimli threw an axe, which buried itself in the other orc's back. Sam froze, but before the last man could alert their foes, Boromir impaled him on his blade. The Easterling gave a low sigh before falling off the sword.

"S-Sorry, sirs." The gardener stammered.

Gimli and Boromir were already dragging the bodies into the prisons, so Frodo focused on his fellow hobbit.

"It's all right, Sam. No harm done."

The gardener gave him a hollow look. "This time."

Before Frodo could respond, the man and dwarf finished what they were doing, shutting the doors.

"How long before they start realizing someone is killing them?" Boromir asked rhetorically.

"Not long. Let's use our remaining time wisely." Gimli said.

The Fellowship trekked deeper into the dungeon.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Thranduil was tiring.

The Elvenking did not want to admit it, but when his blade clashed with Oropher's his arms shook. When he blocked his father's stabs, his movements were slightly more sluggish than they had been before. His back and chest stung, blood trickling down his skin from the wounds caused by Thror's axe and Oropher's sword, and the injuries were slowly but surely taking their toll, sapping away at his strength.

Thranduil had received far worse wounds than these and fought on, but if he had a moment to breathe and look within himself, he would admit that his bleeding heart may be the reason for his descending performance. He had lost track of Elrond, Glorfindel, and Thorin long ago, Oropher having forced their battle out of the courtyard and into the Palace itself.

The walls were marred with deep scars from where Oropher's sword had struck the stone, the loss of an arm not lessening the former Elvenking's strength and rage in the slightest. He did not fight so much as stalk Thranduil now, pushing the blue-eyed elf into a steady retreat as he beat him back with the sheer power in his blows alone.

As he was sent reeling by a harsh downward slash, the Elvenking resolved to stand his ground, not taking another step deeper into his home. Aglar and Barhad were somewhere within the Palace— not to mention, Hannel— and Thranduil was not about to let Oropher anywhere near his children. His father noticed his change in demeanor and his head tipped. In another creature, it may have looked curious but on the cold-eyed fake elf that bled shadows, the pose looked rather disturbing.

"Have you finally chosen to stop fleeing like a coward?" Oropher asked. His eyes flicked past Thranduil. "Or is there something you want to protect? My grandchildren, perhaps?"

The Elvenking said nothing and did not turn to look behind him, already knowing his children were not physically present and knowing better than to show his back to the enemy. He met Oropher's blade with his own, both hands placed firmly around the hilt as his father attempted to bring his sword down on his son's head.

The two combatants disengaged, not quite circling one another as Thranduil blocked the way into his home. The Elvenking slashed at his father's armless side, a blow that Oropher easily deflected, then followed up with an upward flick. The second strike scored a slice on his father's ribs, but Oropher did not seem to notice, pressing forward to attack once more.

Thranduil parried his slash, then the next, the next, forcing Oropher's blade away from his body and darting in to stab. His father shifted his weight and stepped backwards, sword carving down, but the Elvenking rolled out of the way. His sword cut a gash in Oropher's leg as he passed, and more shadows writhed and spilled from the wound.

Block. Block. Parry. Block. Stab. Deflect. Retreat. Stab. Block.

Thranduil was briefly reminded of the many times he had sparred with his father so long ago, but he ceased that line of thought before it could distract him, or hinder him with memories that would only hold him back.

_This is not my father. This is a monster that wears my father's image. I cannot forget._

Oropher sneered and gave a wide swing, forcing Thranduil to duck to avoid being beheaded. He straightened and grunted as his wounds tore further, vision turning into black spots even as he hastily dodged his father's next stab. Either the not-elf was getting more frustrated or simply less self-preserving, for his next barrage of blows were wild and unrefined, drifting further and further from the elegant fighting style Thranduil remembered his father using with pride.

The former Elvenking's next strike sliced a tapestry on the wall in half, carving a mark in the stone that may very well almost go all the way through. Their blades locked once more, blue eyes staring into blue, and for a moment, Oropher almost looked sad.

"Why won't you do this for me, my child?" he asked quietly. "Why won't you die?"

For the first time since he had appeared before Thranduil, Oropher did not look upset or enraged by his son's presence. Instead, the former Elvenking was nearly melancholic, thoughtful,  _hurt_. Thranduil knew better than to believe it.

"You are not my Adar." Thranduil spat. "And even if you were… a child should never die for their parent."

He pushed against Oropher's blade, sending him stumbling backwards, and with a loud shout he slashed not-his-father across the chest, following up the strike with a stab through his torso. The former Elvenking fell to his knees and stared at the sword in open surprise. Slowly he met Thranduil's gaze, and he smiled.

"Thank you, ionin."

Oropher's skin blackened and he crumbled away, leaving behind only his blood-covered sword. Thranduil flinched as the weapon clattered loudly to the ground, rattling against the stone before going silent. The Elvenking stared blankly at the spot where his not-father— or was he?— once stood. He took a moment to let his shoulders slump, confused and overwhelmed by the fight, his injuries, and the mysterious combatant he had just defeated.

 _What did the Void do? What did he create?_  He wondered.

_Was that actually my father? If he was—_

Thranduil shook his head, pushing aside his questions and dismay and bracing himself against his body's desire to collapse. He was injured and his personal fight had been won, but the battle was not over yet. Still breathing heavily, the Elvenking turned back to the courtyard, racing through the scarred halls to assist his allies.

Before he could make it, something grazed his arm. Thranduil reacted instinctively, pulling away and raising his sword to stab… only to freeze when he was met by Barhad, Aglar,… and Nestor? His younger son was the one who had reached for him, though now the startled Prince quickly withdrew his hand. Barhad was pale, the Crown Prince tense with worry, while the Healer turned Fallen Elf looked around at the destruction with a rather detached air.

"Someone ruined the tapestries." Nestor mentioned thoughtfully. "Did they not like them? I thought they were nice."

Thranduil kept his eyes on the Fallen Elf, speaking lowly to his sons. "What happened? Why is he out of the dungeons?  _How_  is he out of the dungeons?"

"I'm not sure about that, but he knocked on your office door and let himself in." Aglar revealed. "He did not attack us, and we did not just want to leave him there, so we were trying to take him back."

"I do not want to hurt anyone." Nestor informed them randomly. "I did not want to be alone, either."

Thranduil did not have time for this. He had a battle to return to, allies to fight alongside. And yet instinct kept him from sending the three away, not because he disbelieved Nestor's claim that he would not attempt to harm his sons, but because of the small matter that the Fallen Elf had been released from confinement. If Nestor was out, then could that mean…?

"Nestor, where are the others?" Thranduil asked, forcibly keeping his voice calm to prevent himself from revealing his urgency. "Where are the other Fallen Elves?"

"They're all gone." Nestor said distantly. "Amon let them out. I stayed behind. I was by myself. It was lonely." Unfocused eyes looked vaguely in the Elvening's direction. "I don't want to hurt anyone."

The Elvenking's mind slowly comprehended what he had just been told and his confusion gave way to a deep horror.

_Amon snuck into the Palace and released the Fallen Elves. How long ago did that happen? Did they all leave or are some hidden among these halls?_

Another realization struck and Thranduil felt cold. The Fallen Elves had been in the dungeons, in the heart of the Palace. They had multiple guards watching over them, and the Elvenking knew better than to believe that Amon had just let them be on the way in. There was also an unexpected battle raging in the courtyard, one distracting a majority of his forces, so it was likely few would notice a group of elves heading out the front gate. And if they did head that way…

Thranduil tried to form words, but his rising alarm prevented him from voicing them. Instead, Barhad took the initiative, asking the question that remained stuck in the Elvenking's mind.

"What happened to the elves guarding you?"

"They're dead." Nestor replied in that same, detached tone. "The others killed the guards." He frowned, brow furrowing. "I don't think I tried to stop them. A lot of them were angry that you locked them away, you see. They wanted to get out. Amon freed them. They're probably in the forest by now." The former Healer tipped his head in a way comparable to an elfling. "Am I in trouble?"

"No." Thranduil choked. "Just… stay with my sons, all right?"

Nestor nodded agreeably, before he abruptly focused on the red staining the Elvenking's clothes. For the first time, his eyes focused. "You're hurt. I will help you."

He took bandages from his pocket and started prodding at and wrapping Thranduil's wounds before the Royals could stop him. Seeing that the Fallen Elf was intent on his work and had no desire to harm him, the Elvenking looked to his ashen-skinned sons.

"Aglar, how many Fallen Elves were in the dungeons?" Thranduil asked quietly.

The Crown Prince grimaced, tucking a loose hair behind his ear. "Minus Nestor? Three hundred and twenty-two."


	15. Ignition

Uncertainty was both a gift and a curse. A gift when felt by Legolas' enemies, but a curse when experienced by the assassin himself. It forced the elf to keep a strong front and neutral expression, acting like he had a plan when truthfully there was none. As he chained his hostage in the empty manacles along the far wall from the door, Legolas kept part of his focus on the Shadowed Elves, who still had not attempted to break down the door. Even if they tried, the elf doubted they would succeed. The door was meant to keep prisoners in, after all.

Once Amulug was properly secured, Legolas hurried to Pippin and finished releasing the hobbit. Pippin sat up slowly, as if his every movement was an effort, and his eyes stared at nothing. Pushing away his worry, the assassin released Aragorn as well, allowing the Ranger to fall into his arms. The man did not appear to be conscious. Legolas felt a bubble of anger break through his state of calm but he buried it.

Behind him, Amulug chuckled, finally breaking his own stunned silence. "Why are you bothering to free them? You are not escaping here."

Legolas ignored him, setting Aragorn gently on the floor and scanning him. The wounds on the man made the elf's anger flare dangerously but he dispelled it with a breath. He had a few herbs and medical supplies on his person, but they were more for small injuries he could take care of himself. The Ranger's wounds were too severe for the assassin's rudimentary knowledge. His sharp eyes took in every scrape, lash mark, and broken bone, and again had to struggle not to turn and take out his fury on his hostage.

_He needs a healer._

Two healers were down the hall, but could never be further out of reach. Legolas stopped lamenting about what he could not control and returned to thinking of a way to escape. Pippin was still mostly unresponsive. Aragorn was unconscious and injured. The Shadowed Elves still lingered, though they were growing restless.

Amulug laughed again, the sound loud and unwanted in the near-silence. "Is he still alive? I do not see him moving. I admit, I was quite impressed with how long he managed to stay conscious—" His jaw clicked shut.

Legolas casually kept his dagger to the Shadowed Elf's throat, expression perfectly blank. He watched Amulug's black eyes widen and took in the bobbing of his throat with that same neutrality, and soon a slight sheen of sweat beaded on his enemy's forehead.

"You fear death." The assassin stated, voice monotone. "How curious. I did not think that the followers of the Void were capable of feeling fear."

Amulug said nothing. Legolas felt a small bit of vindictive pleasure as he observed the uneasiness in the Shadowed Elf's black eyes, but cast it aside, refusing to let his actions be spurred by a need for revenge.

_I need to stall for time, or attempt to change my situation in our favor. But how?_

He quickly went over everything he could remember and discern about his prisoner. Amulug's fear was an obvious weak point to exploit, but he needed to have other avenues ready to use if the Shadowed Elf surprised him and pushed past his desire to survive. The assassin allowed his eyes to narrow the slightest bit.

"Why shouldn't I kill you right now?" Legolas purposely mused aloud.

There it was again. The fear… and anger. Amulug did not want to die, but not because he feared death itself. He was living for something other than to serve his lord. He had his own desire, his own mission… Thinking about Aragorn's condition and a conflict long since passed, Legolas had a feeling he knew what it was. But how could he use it against the Shadowed Elf?

"Well?" he asked coolly. "I'm still waiting for an answer." He pressed the knife just a little harder against Amulug's throat.

The action startled the elf, driving him to speak. "We can come to an agreement." He blurted. "I will negotiate with you."

His tone— much like his eyes— carried a hint of desperation and fury. It was the voice of a person who truly did not wish to die, not yet, for if they did now their purpose in life would be unfulfilled. Legolas could work with that, stall for time, use Amulug's anger and desperation against him.

"Will you release us if I spare you?" he asked.

Amulug's eyes flicked to Aragorn before returning to the assassin's. "Yes. Let me keep Estel and the rest of you can leave. I will order my army to let you pass, and no harm will come to any of you."

His response was exactly what Legolas did and did not hope for. On the one hand, his quick decision to allow a majority of the Fellowship to depart showed what a strange and disloyal Shadowed Elf he was, while it also reinforced the assassin's comprehension that Amulug only cared about harming Aragorn. He cared not for the Void or his orders, only for his own vengeance, which meant he would not let the Ranger go easily, if at all. The assassin showed none of his observations or displeasure on his face, maintaining an expressionless façade. His prisoner mistook his silence for permission to continue.

"You and your quest matters little to me. I only want the Ranger. The only reason I pursued you was for him." Amulug said persuasively. "I will gladly let you do as you please."

Legolas did not ask the obvious question about the Shadowed Elf's unwillingness to follow the Void's orders, guessing that the topic might shift Amulug's priorities and make him lose whatever force kept him from seeing Iãgaw's commands through.

 _Keep him talking. See if he gives up something I can use._  "What did he do to you?" the assassin asked even though he had a feeling he knew the answer.

Amulug's expression twisted, becoming something feral and unhinged. "The mortal forced me from my  _home_." He hissed. "His ancestors are the reason my family  _perished_. Even though his kind is responsible for the decay in this world, Elrond accepted him like one of our own. He raised the spawn of Isildur even though he is the reason Darkness haunts these lands!"

 _And yet you_ _ **worship**_ _that Darkness_ , Legolas refrained from pointing out.

Speaking of Amulug's hypocrisy would only enrage him and make him unpredictable, though it may already be too late to stop it. The Shadowed Elf continued to rant about the one he hated, becoming less and less like an elf and more like a wild beast.

"They called him the Heir of Isildur. They claimed he was to lead Gondor. None of them saw what I could see. His blood is cursed. It is tainted. He was not our chosen savior, but our  _doom_. He would become corrupted, just like Isildur, and turn on us." Amulug breathed heavily, shaking with rage. "They refused to see it. None of them saw it!  _I_ did, and I was  _exiled_  for my discovery."

Legolas' silence was not due to tactics this time. The pure hatred and righteousness ringing in Amulug's tone astonished him. This was an elf who believed his warped perception of the world was right, his delusions past the point of sensibility. Legolas could not comprehend how Amulug could loathe Aragorn so greatly based on assumptions and the mistakes of his ancestors, though he supposed hatred was illogical by nature. It was a pity that the need for revenge was what survived the Void's manipulations of his mind. If another memory or goal had been stronger, would Amulug have been able to keep that piece of himself?

"He is the threat, the monster, and yet I was the one who was ostracized and punished!" the Shadowed Elf continued to rant. "That is why he must  _suffer_. That's why he must  _die_. I will not rest until that cursed bloodline of his is  _destroyed!_ "

It was becoming more difficult for Legolas to keep his expression blank. Only years of training and practice kept him from revealing his disgust and unease. He allowed his neutral gaze to look over Aragorn once more, holding back the instincts of a friend and instead following those of an assassin.

 _Do not antagonize him. Keep distant and calm._  "Then why not just kill him? Has your Master ordered you not to?"

Amulug started, surprise flashing across his expression in response to the questions. Something close to adoration overcame him then, his black eyes shining with a fervent light that made Legolas' skin crawl.

"My Lord bestowed upon me the righteous mission of finding the location of the Black Weapons," he admitted freely to his enemy. "Capturing the Ranger was merely an additional incentive, though I know my Lord intended for him to be my reward." Like poisonous shadows, the madness that was his hatred returned, distorting his features and making him look more like an orc than an elf.

"I could have easily broken the Halfling to get the information My Lord desires, but I found the Ranger to be much more satisfying to break. He deserves to have his limbs broken. He  _deserves_  to see his flesh ripped apart before his eyes. Only after he is apologizing on his knees before me and begging for death will I kill him, once he is a shattered shell of the  _arrogant_  mortal that wronged me. He deserves all of it and more for what he's done!" The last few sentences were uttered in a vile shout, filled with a loathing no sane creature could hope to comprehend.

Legolas could not contain himself, his fury at the Shadowed Elf overcoming his training. He stalked over and grabbed Amulug by his shirtfront, lifting him off the ground and glaring at him. "None of that was Estel's fault. You seek to blame him for things he had no part in, and for your own  _petty_  actions and mistakes."

The Shadowed Elf's lip curled with disgust, his fear draining away as he saw the effect his words had on the assassin. "I see. You will never let me have him. Then what shall we do? Stand here until we all die of starvation?" Amulug mocked.

"No." Legolas responded smoothly. "You would not live nearly that long."

That sufficiently silenced his prisoner once more, giving the assassin the uninterrupted quiet he needed to think. He released Amulug harsher then strictly necessary and returned to Aragorn, checking him over. The Ranger remained unresponsive when Legolas touched him.

_We need to get out. I hope the others are coming up with a plan._

LOTRLOTRLOTR

The dungeons were frightfully dark. Frodo could barely see Boromir as the man ran in front of him, only able to track the others by their footsteps alone. The torches along the wall were few and far between, and the stuffy air and moisture clinging to the walls informed the hobbit that even their enemies did not wish to linger this deep in the fortress. The Fellowship had not intended to head this way, but a persistent group of orcs and Shadowed Elves had driven them into the depths of the stronghold.

The clanging of metal and thundering footsteps echoed in the desolate halls, and Frodo could only hope that the noise would not draw too many more enemies to their position. The hobbit turned and blocked a stab from an orc, forcing its sword aside and slashing its throat. It fell with a gurgle, and another took its place. Spotting an opening in its sloppy defense, Frodo stabbed the orc between the gaps in its armor, dragging Sting sideways. The creature slumped soundlessly to the ground.

A thud behind him made Frodo turn, sword raised defensively, but the Shadowed Elf sneaking up on him was felled by Boromir before it could reach the hobbit. He did not stop to thank the Captain of Gondor for his assistance, lunging forward and impaling another orc through the chest. The rest of the orcs and Shadowed Elves surged forward by the Fellowship was already gone, retreating again to give themselves time and space to breathe. A barked order from Boromir stopped them and they turned on their pursuers once more, killing a few more as they failed to not run into the group before taking off again.

 _How long before one of them gets the bright idea to break away and alert others?_  Frodo thought.

The Fellowship turned on their enemies once more and the hobbit stabbed a Shadowed Elf in the abdomen. Gimli dealt the finishing blow before the reeling elf could recover. As if it had heard his thoughts, an orc realized that it was hopelessly outmatched and turned on its heel. Instead of heading towards help, however, it fled deeper into the fortress. Not wanting to risk letting an enemy get away and gather reinforcements, Frodo broke away from the Fellowship and gave chase.

He heard Sam call his name behind him but ignored his friend, racing after the orc. Frodo's footsteps seemed too loud in the claustrophobic halls, but they were silent when compared to the crashing and clanging of the fleeing orc. Deeper and deeper they ran, through twisting halls and down crumbled stairs, neither party faltering in the slightest. The hobbit kept with his pursuit, putting on a burst of speed. Ahead of him, the orc turned its head, eyes widening with panic as it spotted the one following it. It ran faster, darting through a black opening… and vanished.

Frodo's confusion was instantly swept aside by alarm as he comprehended that the orc had likely fallen off a ledge. He stopped running but his boots slid on the slimy stones beneath him, guiding him towards the opening. In front of him lay an abyss so deep he had no hope of seeing the bottom, the darkness seeming to stretch on for an eternity.

Frodo was too stunned to even think about screaming as he tilted forward, teetering on the edge of the chasm. For a moment, the world froze and he leaned dizzyingly over the endless darkness. A hand snagged the back of his shirt, hoisting him back to safety, and the hobbit turned to his savior with wide eyes.

"T-Thank you, Boromir." He stammered.

The Captain of Gondor nodded briefly, shifting his hand so it was on Frodo's shoulder. The lack of tension in the man's face and sudden silence in the hall told the hobbit that the last of their pursuers had been taken care of and a little more of his own stress eased.

The others followed Boromir's gaze, staring into the endless sea of black ahead of them. The hobbit looked around, eyes following the stones that made up the fortress to their left and right, before letting his gaze return to the darkness ahead of them. If he was not mistaken, the fortress was built alongside and above the chasm, almost like the stronghold itself had been created with the intent of being a madman's bridge. Gimli's eyes were narrowed and his back stiff with outrage as he observed the void, staring at the structure that straddled it like it had personally offended him.

"What kind of fool would build a fortress over an  _abyss_?" the dwarf spluttered.

Boromir studied the endless chasm, expression stern with distaste. "One who wishes for an easy way to dispose of intruders and prisoners, most likely."

Frodo chose not to think about the implications of his statement, instead inching further away from the edge of the chasm. Sam followed suit, turning his head so he did not have to look at the infinite blackness.

"This place is a nightmare." Gimli stated, openly disgusted. "If one hall collapses, the entire fortress will fall into the abyss."

"Please do not say that." Sam whispered, giving voice to Frodo's unease.

The dwarf did not rescind his statement. "It's the truth, lad. You—"

A low hissing sound interrupted him. The Fellowship turned, staring at the single orc who stood behind them, and the vile creature grinned, throwing something. Gimli darted forward and killed the creature as the object it carried landed in Frodo's hands. The hobbit barely took time to note that it was some type of smoking ball before he instinctively threw the smoking object out into the chasm.

The Fellowship watched it fall a bit, unable to tear their eyes away from the sphere. Then it burst into flames, blasting apart with enough force to make dust trickle from the ceiling. The hobbit flinched, but the weapon was far enough away to not cause any damage.

For a long pause, they stared in stunned silence.

"What was  _that?_ " Sam gasped, eyes round.

"It exploded." Frodo whispered faintly. "Like a popping log in a fire."

Gimli eyed the walls warily, gaze following the dust and dirt that continued to float down from the stone above them. "We'd best hope none of the others get the idea to blast themselves to pieces. They'll bring the whole place down with 'em."

Sam went pale, his skin so ashen it nearly glowed in the darkness. "Please do not jinx us, sir."

Boromir backed away from the abyss, keeping a wary eye on it and the dark dungeon before them. "We should keep moving. It is not safe to linger in one place."

The Fellowship returned to the shadowy halls, weaving through the maze-like corridors. Frodo hoped that someone was tracking their path because it was becoming difficult for him to discern which way they were headed. Halls led to the endless chasm, corridors circled back to their old position, and some ended abruptly due to crumbled stone blocking the way.

With every backtrack and dead end, Frodo could feel the tightness gripping his throat growing stronger, like a giant hand was cutting off his air. The walls inched closer, pressing in around the hobbit, and with a panicked gasp he raced ahead of the others, desperate to get out of the inescapable labyrinth.

Frodo turned around a corner and froze in his tracks, face to face with a dozen orcs and Shadowed Elves. He heard the rest of the Fellowship halt behind him, and for a moment, enemies stared at each other in silent bewilderment. Then their enemies unsheathed their swords, lunging, and the Fellowship rushed to meet their blades.

The hobbit hastily dodged a Shadowed Elf's swipe, Sting swiping upward on instinct and burying itself in his opponent's gut. The elf barely flinched, sword plunging down, but Boromir blocked the blade and beheaded him, allowing Frodo to pull his weapon free. An orc came at him with a bellow, axe raised. The hobbit evaded the strike, stabbing into the gap in the creature's armor, and it crumpled like a broken stone.

Another orc took its place, sword in one hand and torch in the other, and Frodo had to scrabble backwards to avoid getting his cloak set alight. The orc grinned with blackened teeth as it advanced upon him, jabbing tauntingly with the flame before rushing him sword first.

The hobbit deflected the sword with all his strength, grabbing the orc's wrist and twisting it so it was forced to release the blade. The weapon fell to the rocky floor with a clatter but the orc got ahold of Frodo's arm, pulling him towards it. The hobbit elbowed the orc sharply in the chest and punched it in the nose.

The orc stumbled back out of the range of his sword, falling into a room, and Frodo pursued. His leg hit something, making a low thudding noise, and both orc and hobbit looked down. Frodo stared at the familiar sphere, eyes drifting to the pile of them behind his enemy. The orc looked at the torch he held, then the pile of explosives behind him. Frodo was the first to understand what was going through the creature's mind.

"Oh." Was Frodo's eloquent response.

Boromir did not waste any time with such exclamations. He grabbed the two hobbits and ran back up the hall, with Gimli hot on their heels. They pushed carelessly past orcs, men, and Shadowed Elves, all of whom seemed to sense their urgency and did not even attempt to stop their retreat. Instead they joined the fleeing memberships of the Fellowship, all trying to get away.

Behind them, the orc grinned and threw the torch at the canisters.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

The ground shuddered. Legolas stumbled as the dungeon rocked and quaked, dust and stones raining down upon him. The projectiles were thankfully small, but still sharp, striking his exposed skin and carving thin red lines in his flesh. The assassin heard Pippin cry out fearfully and lunged for the hobbit as the fortress shook and roared, covering the Halfling with his body as the world tilted around them.

There was a loud crash, louder than any of the initial tremors, and Legolas flinched as the sound of thousands of collapsing rocks assaulted his eardrums. Pippin may still have been screaming, but the assassin could not hear him, gritting his teeth and closing his eyes as he curled around the hobbit. He felt objects strike his back, one piece striking his spine with enough force to make him grunt, and then… silence.

Legolas opened his eyes, staring in confusion at the pale greyish fog that surrounded him. He comprehended that it was not fog or mist he was seeing, but dirt and dust, floating unnaturally through the air and covering everything in grime. He blinked, startled by the strange patterns of light he could see in the mess, and looked up to see sunlight.

The fortress was gone. Not all of it, of course, but much of the structure had seemingly vanished. Staring into the yawning abyss below his position, Legolas had a feeling he knew where to. He watched a few more stones fall pitifully into the darkness and grabbed Pippin, retreating away from the edge hastily. The hallway was not the only thing that had disappeared. The Shadowed Elves were gone as well. The assassin could not say whether that was a good thing or not. Legolas set Pippin down and put his hand on the hobbit's shoulder.

"Are you all right?"

Pippin stared at him uncomprehendingly for a time before nodding slowly. The assassin immediately went to Aragorn. The Ranger was covered in grime but did not appear to be sporting any new wounds. When Legolas touched his arm, the man groaned, stirring slightly before opening his eyes. Dull silver orbs peered at the elf for a moment. Aragorn's eyes roamed, taking in their surroundings, and the glazed, confused look he wore grew more pronounced.

Hiding his worry, Legolas gently placed a hand on his friend's forehead. "It's all right, Estel. You are safe."

Aragorn relaxed beneath his palm, confusion drifting away, and his silver eyes slipped shut. Legolas checked his pulse and felt his muscles loosen when he felt a steady beat beneath his fingers. He glanced around, spotting a silent and unmoving Amulug still chained to the wall, and flinched as the ground shook again. More rubble crumbled away from the fortress. Stones cracked into shards as they fell.

Legolas grimaced and took out a string, pulling his hair up into a messy bun. He lifted Aragorn, hoisting his limp body over his shoulder. That done, the assassin approached Pippin, retrieving his climbing claws and slipped them onto his hands as he went. The hobbit had not risen from his sitting position and did not appear to notice the violet-eyed elf's approach.

"We're getting out of here. Climb onto my back." Legolas ordered.

Pippin rose like puppet with half its strings cut, every movement lethargic and delayed. Legolas crouched in front of him and the hobbit clambered onto him, arms latching around his shoulders. For a moment, Pippin's arms squeezed him tightly, and the assassin gently patted his passenger's hand. He stood up and walked towards the intact outer wall, already tracking his path with his eyes.

Amulug finally seemed to realize what was happening. " _No!_ " he snarled, pulling at the manacles around his wrists like a rabid animal. "No! You aren't taking him. He's mine!  _Mine!_ "

Legolas ignored him, instead adjusting Aragorn's weight on his shoulder. Climbing with a conscious passenger was difficult enough, but an unconscious one was even harder. The Ranger could not cling to the assassin or adjust his weight accordingly, meaning it would be up to Legolas to keep him from slipping.

"Pippin." He said, and felt the hobbit move. "I know it will be difficult, but I need you to try to hold Aragorn in place. I will do most of the work, but you need to tell me if you think he's going to fall, all right?"

The hobbit nodded into the back of his neck. Distantly noting that Amulug was still screaming threats at them all, Legolas exhaled and put his hands to the wall, pushing off the ground. Pippin's arms tightened reflexively around the assassin climbed steadily upward, not tight enough to choke him but still a little uncomfortable. Legolas paid it little mind, just sparing enough thought to note that the hobbit was still there. His primary concerns were keeping his handholds and making sure Aragorn stayed on his shoulder.

Aragorn and Pippin's weight was more bulky then heavy, restricting Legolas' movements and making his progress just the slightest bit slower. He could carry them both without issues, however. He did not have any other choice.

The distance between the elf and his passengers and the ground increased steadily, not that Legolas dared to look. One of the golden rules of climbing was to never look down, lest the climber experience vertigo and lose their balance, plummeting to the ground below. The assassin kept his gaze ahead, noting each hand and foothold before allowing his weight to rely on it.

The ground shuddered and Legolas stopped moving, body pressed against the wall until the tremors passed. He ducked his head and closed his eyes as dirt rained down on them and grimaced as sharp stones bounced off his exposed skin. Behind him, Pippin gave a small whimper.

"Don't look down." Legolas advised.

He felt Pippin bury his head in his nape again and breathed a mental sigh of relief that he had taken time to get his hair— and the spikes within them— away from the hobbit. The assassin continued moving, only to halt when he spotted movement in his peripheral vision. He turned his head, debating whether or not to retrieve a weapon but relaxed when he spotted a familiar dirt-covered figure.

"Kili!"

The brown-haired dwarf looked towards him and a wide grin crossed his features. "Esgal! Are you unhurt?" He squinted. "Who's with you?"

"Aragorn and Pippin. I'm alright and Pippin is awake but Aragorn is hurt and unconscious." The assassin replied. "Have you seen anyone else?"

Kili clambered sideways skillfully, each movement certain and precise. If he was unnerved by the distance between them and the ground, he did not show it, instead climbing beside the elf with an ease that spoke of either practice or recklessness. Knowing the dwarf, it was likely both. He smiled at Pippin, who stared back hollowly, before redirecting his attention to Legolas.

"I'm afraid not. I got thrown down a couple floors when the fortress decided to collapse. When I got back to the dungeon Fili, Elrohir, and Elladan were gone." The first hint of worry entered his voice and he shot Legolas a strained grin. "Can you sense them?"

"I'm afraid not." The assassin admitted. "If I concentrated I might be able to but I'm a bit—" His hand slipped but he caught himself. "— busy. Once we're out of here I'll look. I'm certain they're fine."

The dwarf nodded and went silent. Both warriors tensed as an orc raced up towards them, but the creature did not so much as growl their way as it rushed to climb out of the chasm. The remains of the fortress gave another menacing rumble and a shadow fell over Legolas.

" _Look out!_ " Kili shouted, but his warning was unneeded.

The assassin threw himself to the side as a boulder plunged down towards him. The orc below him was less lucky. The rock struck him directly, sending him falling back into the abyss with a scream. Pippin's own shrieks tore through Legolas' ears as he and his passengers plunged. The elf desperately grabbed at the stone in front of him, claws sinking into the rock, and his entire body lurched, slamming into the cliff.

Legolas gritted his teeth, holding back a grunt as the tendons in his shoulders strained, his limbs feeling like they were trying to tear themselves from their sockets. Aragorn's limp form bounced on his shoulder and the assassin had to release one of his hands to catch the Ranger before he could fall. For a moment, the three just stayed there, winded and aching, and Pippin's hysterical cries became low whimpers. He pressed himself against the assassin's back, shaking. Legolas laid his head against the stone, breathing slowly, and when he opened his eyes, an ashen Kili was there.

"There's an intact chamber to our left. Can you make it there?" the dwarf demanded.

The assassin nodded. He ignored the stinging pain in his extremities and shuffled sideways, followed by Kili. Legolas was uncertain why the dwarf was staying so close. He may be strong, but he would be unable to catch all three of them if the elf lost his grip.

Miraculously, they made it to the ledge without issue. The moment his feet were on relatively solid ground, Legolas set Aragorn and Pippin down and sat heavily. Kili was at his side in an instant, eyes dark.

"Where are you hurt?" he asked urgently.

"I'm not…" Legolas began, only to pause when he spotted spots of blood on his clothes.

He raised his hands, grimacing when he spotted the patches of skin missing from his palms. Closer inspection showed that his knees were also bloody but the injuries were minor all things considered. Kili seemed to disagree, cursing under his breath as he hastily wrapped the elf's wounds with strips of his tunic. Legolas let him work, frowning as he constantly scanned their surroundings.

The dwarf noticed. "Does it hurt?"

"No. We should be getting out of here before our enemy decides we are a priority." The assassin said tensely.

Kili's eyes narrowed. "You can't carry them."

"I'm not that injured." Legolas retorted.

"You stripped the skin from your hands." The dwaf snapped.

The assassin shrugged. "I've climbed with worse."

"You haven't had to climb with passengers!"

"I'll manage."

The ground shuddered. Kili grabbed Pippin and covered him while Legolas did the same with Aragorn. Dust fell from the ceiling of their little crevice, adding more grime to their already dirty clothes and skin. Legolas hoisted Aragorn back onto his shoulder, dismissing the stinging in his hands.

"I'll help Pippin." Kili said rapidly before the assassin could retrieve him. "You're right, we need to leave. But don't think I'm going to let this go."

The assassin withheld a smile. "You sound like a worried parent."

Kili huffed. "Someone has to make sure you don't do anything foolish and because I'm the only one here, it's up to me. Now let's—"

Pippin came to life, throwing himself and the dwarf backwards and out of the path of a familiar sword. Legolas barely had time to see the attacker was Amulug before the Shadowed Elf ran at him, tackling both him and Aragorn to the ground. Pinned between his enemy and friend, the assassin, clipped Amulug in the jaw before he could stab him, kicking him away with a booted foot.

The Shadowed Elf stumbled and landed lightly, expression dark and filled with hatred. His right hand was torn and bloody. Legolas realized he must have forced his hand through the cuff to escape the dungeon. Black eyes focused on the assassin and the Shadowed Elf bared his teeth like a rabid anime.

"You're not leaving." Amulug snarled. "He's not escaping me again. I'm the one who will kill him.  _ME!_ "

The Shadowed Elf attacked with a fury that caught Legolas off guard. The violet-eyed elf blocked each furious blow, grimacing as the force transferred through his stinging hands, but he dare not dodge. Aragorn was behind him, helpless and unaware, and if the assassin fell back on his usual instincts he would fail to defend the man.

He saw Kili dithering uncertainly near the wall, caught between trying to interfere in the dangerous fight and staying back to defend Pippin. The hobbit lingered vacantly near the dwarf , observing the battle with confused blue eyes. Legolas managed to stab the Shadowed Elf in the gut but he did not seem to feel it, twisting his body and tearing the dagger from the assassin's hand.

Legolas hit Amulug in the head with a closed fist but the Shadowed Elf recovered too quick for him to attack. He grabbed the assassin's arm and slammed his head into his. Legolas faltered and Amulug gripped his hands, squeezing and eliciting a pained cry from the elf. The Shadowed Elf shoved him out of the way, towards the cliff, and the assassin barely managed to catch himself before he fell.

He hoisted himself back up in time to see Kili try to ambush Amulug from behind. The Shadowed Elf grabbed the dwarf easily, throwing him into the wall, then stalked forward, grabbing Aragorn by his shirt front and lifting him up.

Legolas rolled back into the cave, getting to his feet, only to freeze when Amulug put his sword to Aragorn's throat. The Ranger was awake. Hazy silver eyes were partially open, filled with confusion as Aragorn failed to comprehend his situation. The Shadowed Elf kept the Ranger in front of his body, sound enough of mind to be wary of the archers shooting him.

"It is true! My Lord is watching out for me this day. He knows my desire and loyalty and seeks to reward me for my servitude!" Amulug began to laugh, a distorted, high-pitched sound that made the hair on Legolas' nape rise. "Don't you see? It is as I've always known. I'm  _meant_  to rid the world of this evil and end that cursed bloodline.  _This is fate!_ "

His grip on the sword shifted, and Legolas and Kili lunged, simultaneous, horrified cries ripping free of their throats.

Pippin got there first.

So focused on the Shadowed Elf was Legolas, that he failed to notice the hobbit creeping up behind Amulug, his trusty dagger-sized sword in his hand. The dagger sank into Amulug's lower back. The elf cried out, jerking away from the hobbit and unintentionally causing the blade to slice sideways through his skin. Pippin's white-knuckled grip was stronger than the Shadowed Elf's involuntary movement, and the dagger pulled free, blood spurting from the wound.

Amulug staggered, dropping his sword and pressing a hand futilely against the wound as he collapsed. Aragorn fell forward, eyes growing sharp with alarm, but Legolas caught the Ranger before he could hit the ground, dragging him away from the Shadowed Elf. Pippin stumbled back from Amulug, eyes round. He was as white as a sheet, hands shaking as the bloody dagger fell from his grasp.

"I-I-I… didn't m-mean…" he stammered.

Amulug made a harsh, painful sound, but his eyes did not seek out the one who had stabbed him. Instead they remained on the Ranger, madness in his black gaze.

"You…" he wheezed. "You…  _You… did this… Your fault…_ "

Even now, the broken elf blamed Aragorn for everything, despite the fatal blow being dealt by another. Amulug forced himself back onto his feet, breathing harsh and skin pale as he stumbled towards Aragorn and Legolas. The assassin pushed his friend behind him slightly, but did not attack the Shadowed Elf as he approached. He knew the elf would not reach them.

Just like he predicted, Amulug collapsed once more, blood pooling around his body and his mad eyes never leaving the Ranger he despised.

"Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. All…  _your fault._ " The Shadowed Elf chanted repeatedly.

His chest heaved once, twice… and the light faded from his black gaze, the hatred in his eyes never leaving even as his soul passed on. Legolas, Aragorn, Kili, and Pippin looked down at the fallen elf in silence, too stunned by the sudden turn of events to fully react.

It was Aragorn who spoke first.

"I'm sorry." The man murmured.

Legolas did not know what Aragorn was apologizing for, and had a sneaking suspicion that the Ranger himself wasn't certain why either. The future King of Gondor knelt beside the enemy that had once been a respected warrior and gently closed his eyes. He straightened slowly, as if a new weight had been added to his shoulders, but his stance was strong despite his many wounds. The Ranger's eyes fluttered but he remained standing as he continued to stare down at his fallen enemy.

"He really wanted to kill me." Aragorn murmured. "And I still don't understand why. I'll  _never_  understand why."

"Don't let that question haunt you." Legolas advised. "Remember Amulug if you must, but live in the present, and look ahead to the future. The past is the past, and what is done is done." He paused briefly, mind flashing back to the Easterling prisoners he had killed.  _Maybe I should listen to my own advice._

"I'll try." Aragorn said softly. He shook himself and looked to Legolas and Kili, taking a deep breath. "But enough of that. We need to find the others. Let's get out of here."


	16. Shaken

Legolas breathed a relieved sigh as his feet settled on solid ground. He felt Aragorn shift and took a few paces forward before allowing the man to slip from his back. Aragorn landed awkwardly, tipping to one side, but Legolas grabbed his arm, guiding him into a sitting position. The Ranger closed his eyes, exhaling sharply as pain flared over his pale features. Then his face smoothed out and he gave the elf a grateful nod.

Once he was certain his friend was not going to faint, Legolas checked his other companions. Pippin had not moved from Kili's back, instead keeping his head buried in the dwarf's brown hair. Kili murmured softly to the hobbit but Legolas heard him easily.

"We're above ground, Pippin. You can let go."

As if the words had failed to reach his ears, the hobbit remained still, maintaining his firm hold on the dwarf. Kili sighed but did not protest or try to shake him off. With another glance at the pale Aragorn, Legolas made to approach the two and offer encouragement. Before he could take more than a step forward, Pippin's limbs released all at once and he fell to the dirt with a thump.

Legolas winced. "Are you all right?"

Pippin kept his gaze directed downward as he stood, brushing the dust from his clothes. "I'm fine." The softness of his voice revealed the lie. Three pairs of knowing eyes surveyed him, and Pippin appeared to physically shrink beneath their scrutiny.

"We need to locate the others." Legolas said abruptly, the tight feeling in his chest easing slightly as Aragorn and Kili looked to him. "Can you walk?"

He directed the question at the Ranger, who unsteadily got to his feet. Aragorn shifted his weight and held one arm to his body in a way he may have intended to be casual, but neither Legolas nor Kili were fooled. The assassin wanted nothing more than to shove his friend back down and attend to his wounds, yet he knew that was not a wise course of action. The destroyed fortress, the sinkhole it left behind, and their enemies were too close. He could sense them now, their presences still blurred together and surrounding him like a malignant fog but he also felt the familiar bright spots among them, standing out like beacons in the dark.

"They are this way." Legolas reported, turning his head towards the largest group.

Stepping in that direction, he scooped up Aragorn in his arms and ignored the man's protests that he could walk. Kili and Pippin hurried to follow the assassin as he strode towards Elladan and the others, silently daring any enemy to bar his path. Through luck or perhaps self-preservation, none did, and the four quickly came upon Elladan, Elrohir, Gandalf, Eomer, Merry, and Fili.

Legolas idly noted that Elrohir was conscious but clearly exhausted. The elf's eyes were dull and unfocused, and he leaned heavily on his concerned twin. The assassin felt a trickle of worry himself for Elrohir, spotting the bloody bandage on his ashen forehead. Legolas pushed it away for the moment, stepping into view. The youngest two of the group's faces brightened upon spotting their kin, but Legolas wasted no time in striding up to Elladan with his unwilling passenger.

"Estel's hurt. What supplies do you have?"

The indecision on Elladan's face vanished as soon as it came and he carefully detangled himself from Elrohir and hurried to Aragorn's side. Legolas smoothly took the twin's place and let the dark-haired elf's head rest on his shoulder. Elrohir did not appear to care. His silver eyes stayed riveted on his brothers and he bit his lip.

"…Alright?"

Legolas forced himself not to twitch as he registered the soft, slightly slurred mumble the question was delivered as. "Aragorn will be fine." He confirmed firmly.

Elrohir rolled his head to blink slowly at him. "Askin' 'bout you."

Again, Legolas shoved his unease away. "I am unharmed."

The twin's glare might have been more affective if not for the paleness of his skin. "Liar." Elrohir said almost petulantly. He pointed at Legolas. "Hands."

The assassin paused, glancing down at the makeshift wrappings around his palms. "They're just scrapes."

Elrohir growled and smacked him on the bicep. The twin pulled at Legolas's arm but let his own hand drop without moving the injured limb. He exhaled, breath tickling the assassin's ear and pressed his head more solidly on Legolas's shoulder. The younger elf waited for the elder to say something only for no words to be forthcoming. Shrugging mentally, Legolas checked his surroundings more thoroughly, noting everyone's status.

Elladan was fussing over a tired-looking but soft-eyed Aragorn. Fili had apparently already reunited with Kili and was keeping guard while his younger brother spoke to Gandalf and Eomer in low tones. It was not that conversation— a brief, stilted summary of what happened— that caught Legolas's attention however, but the interaction of the two hobbits nearby.

Merry was hugging Pippin tightly and was gently rocking him back and forth like one who had found someone they thought they'd never see again. Pippin had somehow managed to tuck his head into the crook of his friend's neck and gripped him with a similar fervor. As Legolas guiltily watched, unable to look away, the younger hobbit began to shake, sorrowful droplets trickling down his cheeks. With the way his cheek was pressed against Merry's chest, the assassin could easily understand the hobbit's sobbed words without needing to hear them.

" _I killed him. I_ _ **killed**_ _him. I didn't mean to…"_

Again and again Pippin repeated the words, growing more and more distraught. Merry became upset alongside him, radiating distress but snapped out of it, grabbing his kin's hands and stopping his horrified mantra. Legolas forced himself not to listen as Merry spoke. It was none of his business what was being said. Yet he could not help but watch, hoping desperately for the despair in Pippin's normally joyful face to cease.

"Esgal."

The assassin looked up at his name, nodding silently to Gandalf as the Wizard approached. Sharp blue eyes swept over him once, lingering on his hands before returning to his face. Gandalf planted his staff on the ground and gripped it with both hands.

"Can you locate our missing members?" he asked solemnly.

"Of course." Legolas said.

He focused, seeking out the familiar auras amongst the darkness. He pushed aside the instinctive urge to flinch as the demises of doomed men and elves brushed his awareness instead. The collapse of the fortress had slain many, the survivors' ill-fated attempts to escape the ruins only adding to the body count, but his enemies lives' did not matter. Only his missing friends'.

That did not stop a malicious eagerness that was not his own from sending shivers up Legolas's spine. He refrained from glancing at the skeleton-like trees above them, pretending not to notice their burst of sadistic anticipation. There were few things that could make Shadowed Trees happy and none were good. Keeping a small part of his attention on the mood of the forest, he scoured the area faster, refraining from showing any of his urgency or unease. Thankfully four bright presences revealed themselves, ascending out of the fog that was the former fortress' location.

Legolas stood. "I've found Gimli. The others are with him. I will retrieve them."

He left before anyone could protest or say they would accompany him, senses tingling and on alert as the leaves above their heads rustled ominously.

Legolas slipped through the woods, being careful to avoid the throngs of enemies milling aimlessly below the trees. Without their leader and base, the Shadowed Elves, men, and orcs had fallen into disarray, though it would not be long before they regrouped. The assassin hoped that at least the orcs would turn on each other in a bid to become their new chief but knew better than to rely on chance.

All four of the missing members were there, dusty but seemingly unharmed. A closer inspection revealed Frodo was leaning heavily on Sam, however, a fact Legolas temporarily ignored in favor of scanning the area for foes. Spotting none, the assassin crept up to the group and stopped behind Gimli.

"I am glad you are unharmed, mellon-nin."

The dwarf jumped a foot into the air and whirled around, axe raised. The other Fellowship members tensed as well, trying to spot the source of his alarm, and their eyes flicked back and forth, seemingly unable to focus on the assassin. Movements careful, Legolas lowered his hood and stepped out of the foliage.

Gimli relaxed upon spotting the assassin. "Esgal! Make some  _noise_ , would you?"

The violet-eyed elf's lips twitched into a smile. "I apologize for startling you. I did not realize you were getting hard of hearing in your old age."

Gimli scowled. "'Hard of hearing'? Ha! Even one of your elves would be hard-pressed to hear you coming! You're like a ghost."

Legolas's small smile grew to a full grin. "So you admit elves have better ears then dwarves?" he asked innocently.

Gimli spluttered incoherently.

Boromir interjected before the dwarf could gather himself and retort. "Esgal. Where did you come from?"

Legolas quirked an eyebrow and let his gaze flick over the trees.

Boromir sighed. "Right. Where are the others? Have you found them?"

"They are this way." Legolas said, pointing over his shoulder. "We—" Another shiver of excitement rippled through the trees. The elf heard black boughs creak. "We can have this discussion elsewhere."

He looked to Frodo, who he now noticed was being held upright by Sam instead of merely leaning on him. The brown-haired hobbit was pale, not to Aragorn or Elrohir's extent but still in obvious pain.

"I got hit with a falling stone but I'm fine." Frodo explained before the assassin could ask. "I can w—"

Eagerness. Sadistic glee.  _Trap-wait-soon-_ _ **kill**_ _—_

Legolas strode over and picked up the hobbit, ignoring his protests. "We need to go." He said sharply.

Without waiting for a response he ran through the trees. He heard Boromir, Gimli, and Sam follow after a startled pause, their footsteps loud and crackling on the leaf-covered ground. The assassin did not care. They needed speed, not stealth. A sense of urgency coiled in his gut but he kept it inside, maintaining a steady but fleet-footed pace. He could not let the trees know he was aware of the  _bitter-fury-dwindling-patience-_ _ **kill**_  that reminded the assassin of a vengeful spider waiting for flies to creep into its web.

The Fellowship reunited without fanfare below dark grey boughs. Most were too injured, too shocked, or too tired to enthusiastically greet one another, instead converging into small groups and murmuring soft, heartfelt greetings.

A small part of Legolas wanted to bask in the joy of the reunion but he did not allow himself to, instead setting Frodo down and remaining vigilant. The tension in the air was growing, murderous intent leaking from the trees around them. The anticipation the elf could sense was now accompanied by a growing anger. Could the others not feel it? Legolas looked to Elrohir, who stared back with uneasy silver eyes. Maybe he could sense it too.

"Is this everyone?" Gandalf asked, seemingly unaware of the danger.

"What? No." Elladan said with a shake of his head. "We still have to find…" He stopped, silver eyes widening slightly. His jaw clenched and he cleared his throat. "We have everyone." His voice was stiff.

"That's good. What now?" Fili interjected before the following silence could grow strained. His gaze rested on Elrohir, Aragorn, and Frodo. "Should we try to find a town?"

"That won't be necessary." The Ranger said predictably. "We needn't get sidetracked."

"I do not think receiving medical attention counts as being 'sidetracked'." Gimli grumbled.

Aragorn eyed him levelly. "I a—"

"If you say you are 'fine' I will throw you back down that cliff." Elladan snapped darkly. Upon noticing his brother's startled expression, he softened his tone, gaining a teasing edge. "Though knowing your track record, you'll find a way to fall over it on your own."

There was an awkward pause as the two brothers stared at each other with wary eyes.

"I believe we should continue to the Temple." Boromir said, breaking the tense atmosphere. "It isn't far—"

"Wonderful. Let's leave." Legolas interrupted. The man of Gondor blinked at him, stunned by the interruption, and the assassin met his gaze with sharp violet eyes. "You carry Frodo. Elladan, you take Elrohir. I'll carry Estel."

His sense of urgency finally transferred to the others and they scrambled to do as he said. Aragorn, Frodo, and a dazed but wide-eyed Elrohir. The rest of the Fellowship went on their guard, scanning the area suspiciously as they searched for incoming orcs or Shadowed Elves.

"What are we facing?" Fili asked. "Who are the enemies?"

Legolas grimaced, eyes drifting the thick black trunks surrounding them. "Possibly the trees. They're  _not_  happy."

It took a moment for the dwarf to understand, but when he did his skin blanched. Elrohir and Boromir immediately retrieved their injured companions, with Legolas picking up a compliant Aragorn. Gandalf led the way, unhindered by his long robes or the staff he held in the air, ready to use if the trees' precarious restraint failed.

Legolas touched their consciousness once more—  _soon-kill-soon-kill-_ _ **liars**_ _-soon-_ _ **out**_ — careful to keep his own thoughts masked. To his relief, their anger was not directed at him. If it had been, the Shadowed Trees would be shouting directly at him even if they thought he would not hear their shrieks. This fact eased the assassin's worry somewhat but he could not relax because they were waiting _-waiting-ready-come-beneath-our-boughs-little-_ _ **meatbags**_ …

Kili cursed and strung his bow, firing into the woods. Legolas idly noted the death of the orc that had been charging at them, and took little more interest in the presences of his fellows. It seemed the enemies milling about the woods had finally stumbled upon them.

The Fellowship tensed in preparation, with some slowing down as they waited for their enemies to come, but Legolas grabbed Kili's arm and dragged him along. The others instinctively followed like they were all connected by an invisible thread, the comprehension that they needed to keep moving remaining unsaid. The orcs, elves, and men pursuing them were inconsequential.

It was the trees they needed to fear.

Legolas heard the Fellowship's loud footsteps crunch on the twigs and dried leaves.

He heard the bellows and shouts of their enemies' pursuit.

He heard the Shadowed Trees whisper and creak.

There was a pause of near-serenity as the Fellowship raced over roots, dirt, and leaves, as if the entire world was holding its breath.

Black branches sprang from the shadows like a Warg's claws, sinking into the orcs and men. Merry clapped a hand over Pippin's mouth before he could scream, his own face white with fear. A black branch whipped over the two hobbits' heads, ensnaring a Shadowed Elf and dragging him into the treetops with a shriek. Legolas kept his hold on Aragorn and Kili and his awareness on the rest of his friends as he plowed ahead through stabbing wood and slithering limbs.

Between running and tracking the movement of them all— trees, enemies, and friends— he was thankful for every second the Fellowship ran without stopping, without tripping, and without freezing in horror. He wondered if the Fellowship realized they had gathered around him, not like a guard but like those seeking protection, protection the assassin desperately hoped he could continue to provide. Because even in their vengeful state, the trees remembered Elf-Not-Glows.

They liked Elf-Not-Glows— or at the very least appreciated him. They did not want to harm Elf-Not-Glows. Elf-Not-Glows told them that Dark Elf was  _liar-liar-revealed-his-_ _ **lies**_. But it was becoming difficult for them to remember who was in Elf-Not-Glows' group and who was in Dark Elf's group, the urge to  _kill-kill-get-out-of-our-territory-_ _ **ours**_ overwhelming them as they sought vengeance on the ones who  _ **LIED**_.

An orc sprang at Gandalf and was plucked away like a rabbit in a fox's jaws. An Easterling brushed past the Fellowship but wooden limbs wrapped around his ankles, dragging him into the shadows as he clawed helplessly at the ground. Another man was impaled directly ahead of them, his body thrown callously aside, but Legolas remained stoic, unaffected, and unafraid.

Because the others needed him to be. He was their shield. He was their safety. He was the only reason the trees were not tearing  _them_  apart as well. And if he showed how disturbed he was, the Shadowed Trees would take note of his 'weakness'.

"Don't stop." Legolas said calmly.

None of the Fellowship protested.

They fled the forest, the screams of their dying foes following in their wake.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

It was quiet. Eerily quiet.

Thranduil felt his unease grow with every step he took towards the courtyard, an unease he was careful to keep off his face. Silence after a battle meant one of two things: either the day had been won, or had been horribly lost. Or perhaps, most awfully, they had won but at a great cost. The Elvenking did not know, but he would soon learn. So he prepared himself for the worst.

Aglar and Barhad stayed at his sides, weapons drawn. The more scholarly prince held his sword with the discomfort of one who wanted nothing more than to cast it aside but knew better than to give in to such foolish thoughts. The Crown Prince, meanwhile, was ready— and perhaps eager— to fight for his blue eyes scanned their surroundings with a worrying intensity.

The final member of their group did not appear to comprehend the heaviness of the atmosphere, instead drifting along like a daydreamer. Though perhaps calling Nestor unfocused was untruthful. He was focused, just not on anything except Thranduil. The Fallen Elf refused to leave his patient's side no matter how much Thranduil tried to convince him to, instead lingering nearby and watching his King like a hawk.

Nestor remained eerily lucid and focused, acting almost normal as he fussed over Thanduil, yet the depths of his madness would inevitably show itself through his eyes, irises shining like he wanted nothing more than to lash out at the world and destroy whatever fell into his path. Then his gaze would clear and he would vacantly inquire in his King's health.

After what felt like days, the four elves finally reached the courtyard. Thranduil straightened his spine and ignored the twinge the action caused before stepping out into the former battlefield. Bodies littered the courtyard and none were of the enemy. The Elvenking knew it was due to the nature of the Shades but that did not prevent the bitter feeling of failure from clogging his throat.

Elves, dwarves, and hobbits milled about aimlessly, many sporting vacant or hollow expressions. Some wept over fallen friends and family members, while others sat alone like they did not know what to do with themselves. Sorrow hung heavily in the air, making the night seem darker and though Thranduil knew he should say something to alleviate the shock and grief, he could not find the words.

His gaze fell upon a familiar, bloody figure leaning against the wall and his breath caught. Nearly tripping over himself, he not-quite ran to Elrond's side, falling to his knees and placing his hand on the still elf's shoulder. His fear washed away as the former Lord of Rivendell twitched at his touch, opening tired silver eyes.

"Do not be concerned, mellon-nin." He said softly. "Believe me when I say it looks worse than it is. 'Tis merely a few scratches."

Now that he was closer, Thranduil could see the shallow cuts on Elrond's hands and chest, the thin lacerations slowly leaking blood. As a healer, the silver-eyed elf should be perfectly capable of wrapping his own wounds, but he did not appear to have the will to. The thought sent a chill through Thranduil's heart and he looked around, searching for Glorfindel. The Balrog-Slayer was nowhere to be seen. Instead glinting metal caught his eye.

There was no sign of the fake that had attacked Elrond, only a discarded sword and dagger on the ground. It was not difficult to guess what had happened, though when Elrond followed Thranduil's gaze, he seemed to experience the urge to explain.

"Elros has passed on once more." The Peredhil said stiffly. "Glorfindel killed him. I could not bear to do it myself." His conflict over his indecision swam in his troubled silver eyes. "He threatened my sons and daughter, and yet I still could not strike the final blow."

Elrond laid his head on his bloody hands. Only Thranduil was close enough to bear witness to the sorrow that crumpled his features. The Elvenking jumped as someone brushed against him, though frankly he should be unsurprised by Nestor's failure to account for personal space. The Fallen Elf knelt beside Elrond, a familiar focused look in his eyes. Without speaking a word, the healer took out bandages and poultices and began tending to the Peredhil's wounds.

Elrond gave a small start as he realized who was helping him, but when Thranduil failed to act against the Fallen Elf, he relaxed and let Nestor work without complaint. The Elvenking knew he should move on and take charge of the situation, but for the moment he merely watched, unwilling to leave his friend.

"You will grow used to it."

Elrond and Thranduil looked to Nestor, who stared back with a blank expression. The healer blinked and tipped his head slightly as he refocused on the former Lord of Rivendell's wounds.

"That emptiness inside. You will grow used to its presence." Nestor intoned. "I hope you don't though. It would be for the best."

The Fallen Elf did not elaborate further, eyes staying on his work. Glorfindel returned then, running up to Thranduil and providing a welcome distraction from Nestor's words. Upon seeing what the healer was doing, the Balrog-Slayer frowned.

"You told me you would take care of yourself if I left you." Glorfindel said to Elrond, voice not quite accusing.

"I apologize." The Lord of Rivendell took a breath and straightened. "Once we are done here, I will assist the others. Do we know how many have been wounded?"

The iciness in Thranduil's heart thawed as strength returned to Elrond's voice. It appeared he was overcoming his grief, or at least pushing it aside for the moment.

Glorfindel noticed as well, though he looked at the Elvenking when he answered. "We do not know yet, I'm afraid. The attack started here, but many were forced out of the courtyard by those… things."

Thranduil turned to Aglar. "Take a couple guards with you and attempt to locate everyone. If you can, gather a party to search the Palace. Make sure no one goes alone. We must make sure that none of our enemies have survived and are in hiding."

The Crown Prince looked conflicted but nodded in assent. "Yes, Adar."

He left and Thranduil scanned the courtyard once more. Familiar, unfamiliar, and tired faces looked back, and with a start he noticed the lack of a certain dwarf among them. "Where is Thorin?"

Glorfindel grimaced. "The Dwarf King chased the one that looked like Thror into the caverns. I believe that he—  _it_ threatened his sister. Gloin followed him. They have not returned."

Thranduil rose to his feet before he consciously realized he was moving. A sense of almost omnipotent unease gripped him and he could see the source all-too clearly. If Thorin had fallen in elven lands…

"I will look for him." Thranduil said. His eyes flicked over Barhad, Elrond, and Nestor. "Stay with them."

Glorfindel nodded sharply.

The Elvenking went into the caverns, steps light and ears sharp. No sounds of clashing metal or vengeful war cries reached him. He quickened his pace, sword unsheathed, and scanned every room and shadow for the missing dwarves. Eventually, he made it to the dungeons. The door of every cell was open, proving Nestor's claims that the Fallen Elves had been released. The lack of them within the Palace both relieved and worried the Elvenking, but he pushed away that problem to be dealt with at a later time.

Descending further into the dungeons, he spotted a familiar figure and froze. The unease faded away, replaced by shock and regret. Thorin sat in the hallway as proudly as his posture when standing, back straight and visage firm. To Thranduil, he almost appeared to be made of stone, unmovable and unaffected by the harsh world around him. Nothing could make him feel. Nothing could break him. Except, something had.

For laying with his head gently placed in his King's lap, was Gloin. Thranduil knew before he approached that the dwarf was dead. His eyes were closed, his expression peaceful like he was only asleep, but the gaping, bloody wound in his chest told the truth of his passing. The Elvenking's heart twisted at the sight and he could not find the voice to announce his presence. Instead he approached in silence and sat beside the two dwarves, unable to look down on either of them.

Thorin did not acknowledge him at first, instead maintaining his silent and solemn visage. Then his gaze shifted, meeting Thranduil's own. Beneath the mask of serenity that covered his features, his eyes showed the true depths of his sorrow.

"I was a fool." The Dwarf King said, voice so soft it was barely audible even to Thranduil. "That— That  _monster_  in the form of my grandfather knew exactly what to say to make me reckless. He baited me and made me act like a foolish novice, and I fell right into his trap. If not for Gloin, I would have been killed. He took the blow meant for me. After all we lived through together, my folly is what killed him."

His proud shoulders shuddered with repressed emotion and Thranduil saw his jaw clench in effort. The Dwarf King would not cry in front of the Elvenking, no matter how deeply grief cut into his heart. Thranduil could not find the words to say. An apology and condolences balanced on the tip of his tongue but he dare not voice them. They would not be accepted, and would just serve as ignition for the rage Thorin desperately wanted to unleash upon the world.

With his enemy slain, the Dwarf King wanted something to despise. He wanted someone to blame. The Elvenking would be an easy target, for Gloin had fallen during an assault on the elven realm, but Thorin refrained. Perhaps it showed his increased maturity or even their bettered relations that he showed restraint. But because of that restraint, he could not turn his sorrow and anger outward. And so he blamed himself.

Thranduil knew better than to give stock consolations and apologies. He knew that saying Thorin should not blame himself would not make that guilt dissipate. The Dwarf King would not want assistance from elves to put his fallen brother to rest. So he merely placed a hand on the Dwarf King's shoulder, giving his silent support, and withdrew.

"What do you need?"  _What do you want me to do?_

"Leave us." Thorin said softly.

Thranduil left him to grieve.

He caught one of the dwarves of Erebor in the hall and quietly told him what had happened. His face clouding with sorrow, the warrior nodded roughly and rushed to his King's side. Thranduil hoped he would be better able to help Thorin. The Elvenking had to focus on his own people.

_This was not meant to happen..._

" _Hir nin_!"

Thranduil turned to the guard that hailed him, hiding his turmoil behind a calm façade. Thimben halted before the Elvenking, bowing slightly before gesturing back the way he came.

"Please come with me,  _Hir nin_. I believe I have discovered how our enemy came into the Palace."

"Lead the way." Thranduil said.

He followed the warrior past the courtyard, down to the river that flowed near the Elvenking's home. Thranduil realized their destination long before they reached it, and soon enough, his guess proved to be correct. The old tunnel by the riverside yawned before him, as dark as a moonless night. Five guards stood around it, expressions set and determined, and they eyed the tunnel with the wariness and anger one would expect to be directed at a traitor. In a way, it was.

"I see." Thranduil said without Thimben needing to explain. "Those things came through here, then?"

"That is what we believe." Thimben said. "A few of the Fallen Elves appear to have left through the tunnels as well." He gestured at the footprints that could just barely be seen going into the tunnel. "Some of those are from the ones we sent to search the tunnels, but there were some that led into it before they went there."

Thranduil's face remained impassive while his fists clenched beneath his sleeves. "Are you sure it was wise to send warriors down there? What if there are more of those creatures?"

"We are certain there are not." Thimben said calmly. "Based on their behavior during the battle, our enemies were quite eager to arrive, it seems. The Fallen Elves were just as eager to leave. None of them stayed behind to lay an ambush."

Thranduil recalled Oropher's almost unwavering determination to see him dead. "That is true. What of the Palace guards?"

Thimben grew solemn. "I'm afraid many of the guards that were on watch are confirmed as deceased. I've already sent more to replace them and others to scour the surrounding woods and passages." He hesitated. "Did you know about the tunnels,  _Hir nin_? Not many of my comrades were aware they existed before now."

Thranduil closed his eyes. "That was intentional, I'm afraid. Only Royals and a few trusted elves were given knowledge of them."

Thimben's brow furrowed. "I have to wonder how those creatures knew about them, then…" he murmured, almost to himself.

 _Of course they knew. A Royal led them._  Rather than sadden him, the thought made the last remnants of Thranduil's shock fade away. "From now on, keep at least five guards stationed here, with another five at the other end. We cannot allow something like this to happen again."

"Yes,  _Hir nin_." The warrior said.

Thranduil returned to the Palace itself, mind buzzing with a thousand thoughts. The realization that they had been  _attacked_  and the identity of those attackers finally dawned on him, and his eyes narrowed.

_We were foolish. We believed the Sanctuary's power would protect us from all threats. That is not true, and we were ignorant to believe otherwise. Those creatures must be creations of the Void but is he aware of where he sent them or was it random? Those monsters, those… Shades seemed to be driven by a desire to hunt down and kill their family members and descendants. Is that how they found us, nothing more? And we have no idea how many more there are. Plus with the Fallen Elves now on the loose…_

It worked too well for this all to not be planned by an enemy, yet there was no possible way for Iãgaw to be aware of the Sanctuary or those within it. Had it truly been through chance that such dangerous foes had found their way into the one place the Void could not reach? Thranduil supposed the semantics did not matter, but in a way they truly did. Because of the attack on Mirkwood, their enemies had unknowingly gained an advantage, letting a horde of potential enemies free within the woods.

The Sanctuary was no longer safe.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Iãgaw drummed his fingers on the tabletop and balanced his chin on his other hand. His head tipped and he sighed softly, the sound only conveying the slightest hint of annoyance. Amulug was dead. The Void had felt his demise a few hours past and had been displeased, of course. The legions of lifeless mortals in a nearby town were proof of that. But now he was calmer, and he could think.

The Fellowship and Temple needed to be dealt with. However, the forces he had sent after them had been demolished. He  _could_  ambush and kill them himself to ensure the Weapons would never be retrieved but the Temple might still be located in the future. If the first group failed to return the ants would send another, over and over until one achieved their goal. It was wiser to find the Temple itself and destroy it and the threat it held.

_What should I do…?_

His gaze slid to Provadok, who appeared to not notice his Master's scrutiny. He could send the Shade to hunt the Fellowship and have him kill them all and ransack the Temple. But he needed his assassin for the next attack in Middle-Earth. Not to mention he wanted to keep the increasingly-restless Shade away from the so-called 'light' he so desired to crush.

Iãgaw knew that Provadok was an interesting Shade, a unique one. He had a will of his own, and once the mindless need to kill the light was satisfied, the Shade might very well fade away, his mission complete. That would leave Iãgaw without his favorite assassin. No, the Void could not afford to send Provadok eastward, in the direction of the light that tempted him so greatly.

Iãgaw's gaze slid to Riagán, who stood far away from Provadok and the Void. He could not entrust this mission to that fool either. The man's need for revenge was amusing but also aggravating. If he had learned anything from Amulug, it was not to let vengeful fools near the target of their rage.

Apparently stupidity was a side-effect of vengeance, for if Amulug had spent less time tormenting the Heir to Isildur instead of killing him when he refused to give up the information they sought, well, maybe the Shadowed Elf would not be dead. And neither would the rest of the forces Iãgaw sent. Legions of Shadowed Elves, men, and orcs, all slaughtered in one fell swoop.

It was all so  _irritating_. The Fellowship was very skilled at killing his minions. If only the Void's followers weren't tiringly mortal and so easily killed…

A vague memory rose to the front of Iãgaw's mind and his face split into a sharp grin. He stood fluidly and walked over to Provadok and Riagán to give his orders. Hopefully they would be competent enough to destroy Minas Tirith without his direct assistance. He trusted his assassin would succeed in his mission, of course, but fools like Riagán were so prone to failure…

Which was why he could no longer trust finding the Temple to someone else.

_It appears that if you want something to get done, you have to do it yourself._


	17. Hurt

For hours the Fellowship ran, pushing themselves forward on aching feet and shaking legs but unwilling to risk stopping beneath the dangerous trees. The sun was high in the sky when Merry stumbled. Eomer caught his arm before he could fall, but the hobbit still sank to the ground, breaths harsh and labored.

"I need a moment." He panted.

The other members of the Fellowship halted as well and those carrying passengers gently set them down. Legolas knelt beside Aragorn, noting the tiredness in his eyes and the sweat on his brow. The Ranger's posture tensed in a way that suggested he was resisting his body's desire to curl up or simply list over, but Legolas could easily see that he was in pain. The assassin carefully brushed damp locks of hair out of his friend's face, eliciting a mumbled protest from the man.

"How are you feeling?" Legolas asked.

"Not my best." Aragorn admitted.

Legolas's face almost slipped into a mask but he forced a small smile. Aragorn must truly be suffering if he confessed that he was anything less than fine. "I'm certain one of the twins will have something to help."

The assassin looked to Elrohir and Elladan. The uninjured twin hovered over his brother and checked his head wound, his movements gentle but his aura screaming fear and distress. Elrohir was conscious and aware, but his skin held a nasty white pallor. The contrasting darkness of his hair and silver eyes only made him look all the sicklier. When Elrohir caught Legolas' gaze, however, he pushed himself to his feet and hobbled over to him and Aragorn, ignoring Elladan's protests.

"What hurts?" he asked shortly. His hands trembled as he dug through his bag and he squinted at the bottle he pulled out, brow furrowing.

Elladan grabbed his arm and gently took it away. "Let me do that."

Elrohir closed his eyes, grunted, and sat heavily next to Aragorn without another word. The lack of objection made something twist in Legolas's gut but he expelled it with a breath. Knowing there was little he could do to help Elladan unless the elf requested he wrap a wound, the assassin stood and carefully scanned the area. The trees would make a fuss if anyone came close to them, but it was always best to remain on guard.

"Esgal!"

The elf looked up at Boromir's call. The Captain beckoned him over to the group consisting of himself, Gandalf, Fili, Kili, Eomer, Frodo, and Gimli. The assassin went to them, tipping his head questioningly.

"We wanted your opinion." Boromir said. "Should we stop or head onward to the Temple?"

"Whatever you think would be best." The assassin said. "You are the one who knows where the Temple is."

"That is not what we are asking, exactly." Eomer interjected. He glanced behind Legolas and lowered his voice. "A few of us are injured or tired, but the enemy is too close. We need a rest but do you believe we should risk it?"

Legolas heard Elladan rummaging through the bag of medical supplies again. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Merry with Pippin, who stood unsupported beneath the trees but stared at nothing. Sam hovered nearby, clearly wishing to go to the distressed hobbit but worried he would be overstepping his bounds. As he watched, Merry grasped Pippin's shoulders, expression twisting in a forced grin that suggested he was trying to get a rise out of his friend. When Pippin failed to respond, the smile vanished.

The assassin's nails bit into his palms. "I'm not a healer. I cannot say what would be best for them."

"But you have sound judgement." Frodo said simply. "What do you think would be safer?"

Legolas considered their options carefully. "The Temple. The Void's abilities make it too dangerous to remain out here, especially since we are so close. He could send another army at any time and overwhelm us and we are exposed. The Temple is hidden and since we are almost there, it might be wiser to push onward and rest later."

"Very well." Gandalf said, and none of the others protested.

Their immediate compliance gave Legolas pause, but he returned to Aragorn without comment. Elladan had already lifted a grumbling Elrohir, and the injured twin's discontented expression brought a small smile to Legolas's face. If Elrohir was scowling like that, he was lucid enough to be dissatisfied with his situation, meaning he was slowly recovering from his head wound.

Legolas's relief vanished like a blown out flame when his eyes fell upon Aragorn, who did not fare nearly as well as his elven brother. In fact, with his wounds carefully bandaged he looked even worse than he had before, his face set in a permanent grimace and his eyes closed in a mockery of rest. It was clear that Aragorn was only continuing to function through sheer willpower alone. He needed more medical attention than what could be provided on the road.

_He's so pale._

Shoving such thoughts aside, Legolas was about to inform Aragorn of their plan when Eomer's hand landed on his arm. The assassin stilled, discomforted by the contact, but did not shrug away. The man must have noticed for his arm dropped awkwardly to his side.

"Esgal, perhaps you and Boromir should scout ahead." Eomer suggested.

Legolas frowned. "I would rather not. Elrohir is not coherent enough to sense enemies, and I do not wish to repeat what happened the last time we chose to separate."

"We will be perfectly fine without you." Gandalf claimed, joining the conversation as he watched Merry speak softly to Pippin. "The Temple is not far. I would prefer knowing that the path is clear of any unforeseen obstacles."

Legolas supposed they were right. With a few of the Fellowship injured, the last thing they needed was to run into more trouble so close to their goal. Except he could not shake the feeling that something was unsound about their request. He looked to Boromir, who lingered nearby with a hand on his sword hilt. The guarded— and slightly angered?— look on the man's face inflamed Legolas's suspicions, and comprehension dawned. The assassin forced the instinctive burst of anger away, determined to look at the situation with a clear mind.

"You do not want Boromir and me to scout ahead. You want us to finish our journey and enter the Temple without you." Legolas stated.

Eomer winced, the slightest grimace curling his lips downward.

Gandalf remained firm. "I suppose that pretending otherwise was a foolish endeavor. I apologize for insulting your intelligence."

"No offense was taken." Legolas said honestly. "Though I admit I'm a little upset that you tried to trick me into  _leaving you behind_." Despite his control, his tone gained a hard, almost snappish lilt at the end.

Gandalf held his gaze, and Legolas wonder if he saw the anger lurking behind his steely calm. "Esgal," Gandalf said gravely. "We all do not need to reach the Temple. As a Wielder, you  _do_. Boromir knows the way, and the two of you could go to our destination much faster than our group."

Legolas understood what the Wizard was saying. He understood it far too well. The situation was not dire, but it could quickly become so, and the chances of their enemy finding them were higher than ever. The longer it took to arrive at the Temple, the more likely it was that something would prevent them from doing so. Boromir and Legolas alone would make it in less time than the Fellowship carrying the shocked and injured. Logic dictated that was the best course of action to take.

Legolas's morals and sense of loyalty called foul. "No. I will not leave you behind. We began this mission together, and we will  _finish_  it together."

"I did not expect you of all people to let your emotions cloud your judgement." Eomer said, though his tone held no condemnation. In fact, there was a barest hint of respect in his voice, like he understood Legolas's unyielding if potentially misguided comradery.

"It may not be solely due to emotions." Boromir interposed. "The last time we separated, half of us were captured, and we should all know by now that we would not abandon each other to complete the mission."

At first, Legolas believed the Captain was merely coming to his defense, but a glance at his hardened features told a different story. He too had no desire to leave a majority of their Fellowship behind. As a soldier, he understood sacrifice, but as a friend he refused to possibly leave their comrades to a terrible fate.

_We succeed together or fail together. If we are willing to lose everything for our goal, what is the purpose of triumph?_

"I see you both are in agreement. Very well." Gandalf said. "Shall we move on?"

Legolas nodded sharply and knelt beside Aragorn, who seemed unaware of the conversation that had taken place. "Estel?" Bleary silver eyes opened halfway. "We are continuing on. I will carry you."

"Alright." Aragorn murmured after a pause.

Legolas put his arms under the Ranger's knees and back and carefully lifted him onto his back. Aragorn tensed but remained stubbornly silent, though Legolas could tell that he winced, his fingers digging into the assassin's shoulders. As the Fellowship began to move, Legolas smoothed out his steps as best he could, hoping to minimize the amount his friend was jostled as they hurried over the rough terrain.

"We are almost there, mellon-nin." Legolas whispered. "Once we arrive, you can rest."

Aragorn did not respond. Instead he laid his head on Legolas's shoulder. Ignoring the squeezing sensation in his throat, Legolas adjusted his hold on his friend and trekked on.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Faramir was not proud to say he had become accustomed to deceit. The deceit was through omission, rather than action, though with his father's current… temperament, such silence was unfortunately necessary. To the outside world, Faramir may appear calm and collected, and he may even believe that serene state of mind was true, but a part of him was always cautious, always watching and waiting for his pretermissions to be uncovered.

As he held an incriminating tray of food in his hands, he did not hurry to his destination, nor did he eye the shadows for suspicious watchers. He did, however, feel the tension drift from his frame as he halted before the door to the elves' discreet guest room. Balancing a tray on his one hand, Faramir knocked on the door. Upon being given permission to enter, he walked through the doorway and shut it firmly behind him. Faramir made his way to the small table shoved in the corner of the room and set the tray down.

"Here you are. I hope it is enough."

"I assure you it is" Megilag said. "Thank you."

The elf set the book he had been perusing on the table and rose from his seat, inspecting the tray and the stew and bread laid upon it. Satisfied, he passed a bowl to Fael, who nodded briefly to Faramir before digging in. The man was unbothered by the verbal lack of gratefulness. The green-eyed elf was obviously still uncomfortable with their situation, and had more important things on his mind than pleasantries. Megilag grabbed the second bowl, hesitated, then set it on the table beside Bereneth's bed.

" _(Make sure you eat that before it gets cold)._ " Megilag urged her in Sindarin.

Bereneth did not turn or even acknowledge him. Faramir did his best not to stare at the elleth's back. In all the times he had seen her, Bereneth had yet to speak more than a few words or do much of anything at all. The fiery, determined elven princess he had heard stories of was nowhere to be seen, replaced by a quiet, distant soul whose only action was to stare at her hands with haunted eyes. Bereneth was not physically thin or frail by any means, but it looked like the slightest bit of pressure would be enough to break her in two.

The sight alone was enough to make Faramir internally shiver. He had never seen an elf fade firsthand before and wondered if he was witnessing the process. The raw, terrified look that sometimes appeared in her brothers' eyes only increased his own fear, but if her family could not help her, he certainly could not. All he could do was treat the three elves as guests, and keep their presence a secret from his father until Bereneth made some semblance of a recovery. It would do her no good to face the volatile Steward of Gondor like this.

Faramir settled in his usual chair by the window, continuing the routine he had adopted since the elves had come to Minas Tirith. At first he had been hesitant to linger, but his curiosity had won over his initial awkwardness and he'd soon found the elves to be friendly conversationalists. Megilag never hesitated to answer Faramir's questions about their people and culture, and even Fael had eventually added his own comments to their discussions after growing used to the human in their midst. He sent a wary glance towards the door occasionally, but never towards Faramir. Not anymore, at least.

Faramir had a feeling that was why Megilag had been so open and friendly by comparison. Fael's mistrust seemed to be a recent development so Faramir did not mind being used to get the silver-haired Prince to lower his guard. It was a strange way for man and elves to bond, yet here they were, chatting away like old friends. Yet there was an underlying tension to their talks however as they fervently waited for the only female among them to recover so they could meet with Denethor. Or, more preferably if Megilag's hints were to be considered, so the Royals could return to Mirkwood. All in all, circumstances could be better, but they could also be far worse. Faramir wished that there was more he could do to assist them.

On cue, Fael set his empty plate down and shifted in his seat, glancing longingly out the window. The elves were not forced to stay in their room but it was implied to be a better choice. The guards were not the only ones who may react badly to seeing elves in Minas Tirith, and many would certainly inform Denethor if they were seen. Faramir could see being confined to a few rooms was slowly wearing upon the brothers, one of whom reached the point of voicing his dismay.

"Minas Tirith is such a lovely city. I would love to see more of it."

Whoever said all elves were a subtle, cryptic lot were horribly misinformed. Faramir did not mind Fael's bluntness.

"You can go out if you wish. You are not prisoners here." he reminded them firmly.

"But we may not be welcome out there." Megilag pointed out.

Fael looked to his brother, green eyes wide and hopeful. "We can explore for a little. Just to stretch our legs. It is dreary outside. No one will glance at us twice if we keep our hoods up."

Megilag's fingers drummed on his leg and he too glanced out the window. Seeing the longing there, Faramir began to wonder if the claims that elves became despondent if kept indoors were true. Before he could ponder further, Megilag's eyes flicked to his sister. Faramir sensed his worries without them needing to be voiced.

"I will stay with her." Faramir offered.

Megilag straightened. "You do not have to."

Faramir noted how his gaze lingered on Bereneth and he leaned slightly forward, as if he were hoping for a response from his sister. Outrage, annoyance, or a single unimpressed stare would do. Instead there was nothing, and his shoulders slumped. The sight made Faramir's chest ache.

"I want to help." He said.

Megilag's sharp eyes pierced him, studying the depths of his soul, and Faramir let him, not unnerved by his ancient gaze in the slightest. He could tell the brothers needed this breather or they would crumble.

Finally, the Prince inclined his head. "Very well. Thank you, mellon-nin."

Faramir barely kept himself from smiling. They saw him as a friend and trusted him to watch over their sister. His heart warmed. Faramir stood and leaned out the door, unsurprised to see Madril lingering there. He always did hover around when Faramir was here, not that he asked him to. After murmuring his request, his second-in-command departed, returning with two plain brown cloaks. Faramir accepted the clothes and gave him a smile.

"Thank you, Madril."

The man nodded briefly before vanishing once more, to perform his other duties or linger just out of sight, Faramir did not know. He handed the cloaks to Megilag and Fael, and the green-eyed brother quickly put it on, reminding him of a child eager to go on a trip in the woods. The elves truly were restless, and he felt a bubble of guilt for not doing anything about it sooner.

"Do you want me to get you a guide?" Faramir offered belatedly. "I can call Madril back here—"

"That will not be necessary. We will find our way." Megilag reassured him.

Megilag placed his hand on Bereneth's cheek, a pained look passing over his fair face when she did not react. He said nothing, the limb dropping to his side, but Faramir saw his shoulders shudder once.

Fael brushed past his brother and kissed Bereneth briefly on the forehead. " _(We'll be back soon, sister)._ "

The elves slipped out the door, leaving Faramir with Bereneth. The elleth did not appear to notice her brothers had departed. Faramir chose a book off the shelf and settled back in his chair, prepared for a few hours of silence at least. The peace and quiet released the tension from his body and he relaxed, sinking into the text and almost forgetting about the world around him. Poetry was not something he read often lately, and it was nice to have a moment to simply read without worrying about his duties or the state of the world.

The attacks were getting closer and closer to Minas Tirith, and the people were beginning to fear that they would be next. Denethor tended to inflame those fears rather than alleviate them as of late, and though Faramir did his best, he could not help but think that Boromir was better suited for his tasks.

"Do you have a brother?"

Faramir jumped and barely kept his balance, his chair threatening to fall onto its side and send him sprawling to the floor. Once he righted himself, he looked up, meeting dull brown eyes for the first time. Bereneth waited patiently for him to gather his wits. Or perhaps, more accurately, she simply did not notice the stretched period of silence that followed her question.

_She spoke to me._

Faramir snapped out of his stupor. "Yes. Er, I have a brother, yes."

Bereneth blinked slowly, lethargically, but her dull eyes stayed on him and his heart pounded at her continued awareness. "What is he like?" Her voice remained soft, like the barest breath of wind, and Faramir feared it could vanish in an instant, never to return.

"Strong, brave, loyal, kind, protective. He is a great leader, a great man, and an inspiration to many, including me." Faramir spoke from his heart, not wasting time conjuring more deliberate words. "I always know I can rely on him, and in return will ensure he can rely on me. He was always a better warrior and leader than I, but together it felt like we could accomplish anything."

"You love him dearly." Bereneth murmured, as if to herself.

"Of course. He is my brother." Faramir said simply.

Her glazed stare drifted from him, returning to its usual place on the wall. Faramir's once-light heart sank, sorrow rising to replace it. After a pause that went on for too long, he reluctantly returned to his book, but found himself unable to focus on the pages. Instead, painful barbs expanded in his lungs. He should have done more. He should have tried harder to keep her attention. He should have—

Miraculously, Bereneth spoke again. "What if you did not know it was him, and you hated him? You insulted him? You  _hurt_  him? And then you found out he was your brother." Her knuckles whitened as her fingers curled into fists, and the glazed look she once bore had been replaced by a haunted air.

Faramir considered his words carefully this time, not willing to risk rebirthing her despair but unable to spend too much time providing an answer. "I would try to make amends, and start our brotherhood anew. Siblings are one of the closest types of people in the world, and it will take more than a few bad impressions to permanently tarnish their relationship."

He did not mention that siblings could also be the greatest enemies in the world, jealousy and pettiness ruining any chances they had of a harmonious family. Bereneth did not need to hear that now.

She blinked at him, slowly, lethargically, and to Faramir's horror her eyes filled with tears. "I do not know if forgiveness is possible. I did not know he was my brother, but that is no excuse. I broke his arm, ridiculed him, and showered him with cruelty and disdain. I thought he was a lowly assassin my father had taken an interest in, and so I treated him like an orc and chose him as a target for my envy. Now Legolas  _despises_  me." She buried her head in her hands.

 _Legolas? The Lost Prince?_  Faramir had read about Thranduil's lost youngest son in one of his books, but he had believed the elfling had died. Apparently that was not the case, and the gravity of the secret Bereneth had just told him nearly struck him dumb. He pushed past the questions pestering his thoughts and spoke from his heart.

"I do not know Legolas personally but I doubt he hates you. Familial love is much more powerful than you think, and forgiveness is not unachievable. You were close in his childhood, yes?" At her slight nod, he continued. "That bond has not been severed. It may be frayed, but it can be whole again. Accept the mistakes of the past and move forward. Speak to your brother, and once he forgives you, you must learn to forgive  _yourself_."

Bereneth stared at him, eyes wide, and Faramir was caught in how brown they were. They almost seemed to glow. Were they that vibrant shade before? Something in her expression softened— or maybe relaxed— and she dipped her head.

"Thank you." She whispered.

Bereneth said nothing more, simply turning back to her usual spot on the wall. It could be wishful thinking on Faramir's part, but it seemed like her gaze was more focused, as if she were thinking rather than simply existing. Seeing the conversation was over, Faramir returned to his book once more. He could only hope that he had helped somehow.

_Tap-tap-tap._

The quick knock on the door did not startle him as badly as Bereneth and he marked his page without flailing and nearly falling to the floor. It was surprising that Megilag and Fael had returned so quickly but also expected. They would not want to be away from their sister for long. At least Faramir could give them some good news.

Faramir rose from his chair with a stretch and opened the door, mouth opening to greet the returned elves. He knew what had happened as soon as he saw Madril's pale face.

"You father knows, sir." Madril said reluctantly. "He demands to see them. Now."

LOTRLOTRLOTR

The mountains stretched into the sky, their peaks disappearing into the sea of grey. In the soft light filtering through the clouds, the stone appeared black, looming above the rest of the land like a menacing guardian and casting its shadow over the insignificant travelers at its base. There was not a speck of vegetation on the mountainside, leaving it blank and barren and it challenged anything to try to survive. The wind wailed like a wounded beast, screaming through the holes and crevices of the unyielding stone, and the more superstitious sort may believe it was haunted, home to the ghosts of a thousand lost souls.

All in all, it was not a place one would expect to find the Temple. And yet, according to Boromir, this was the Fellowship's destination.

"Lovely place." Sam stammered as he shivered in the chilly wind. "This is where the Temple is?"

"Indeed." Boromir confirmed, gaze never drifting from the menacing mountain. "This mountain is isolated. There are no villages nearby, and I would not be surprised to hear the people of Rhûn believe it and the surrounding area to be cursed."

"Superstitions would keep many travelers away." Gandalf acknowledged. "But not all." His blue eyes narrowed. "Many lives have been lost here."

The hobbits exchanged nervous glances.

"Shall we continue on?" Eomer interjected as his hair was thrown into his face by the wind. He brushed it back irritably. "We're almost there. Let us finish this journey today."

"There's one flaw in that plan of yours." Fili pointed out. "How're we going to climb?"

He jerked his head in the direction of Aragorn and Elrohir. The elf was much better, but the Ranger was visibly worse, skin ashen and eyes glazed with exhaustion. Yet as tired as he was, there was a glint in Aragorn's eyes as they rested upon their destination. They were so close.

"We don't have to scale the mountain." Boromir informed Fili. "There's a cave at the base that will lead to the Temple."

"Really, now?" Gimli asked, eyebrows raised. "Not very protected, is it?"

Boromir chuckled. "I assure you there will be plenty of defenses inside. You cannot simply walk into the Temple."

With confident steps, he led them to the bottom of the mountain, treading between pillar-like rocks with no hesitation. The elves and dwarves were equally stable on the small, loose stones that made up the ground, though Eomer and the hobbits struggled. Aragorn caught Merry's arm before he could slip, his other arms wrapped securely around Legolas' shoulders.

"Thanks." Merry said once he'd balanced himself.

Aragorn patted him absently on the shoulder before securing his arm back around Legolas.

"Pay more attention to your footing." Gimli called over his shoulder. "You won't want to fall once we're inside. The cliffs there will be much less forgiving."

Merry blanched at the thought.

"You will be fine." Legolas hurried to reassure him. "We'll be there to catch you."

The hobbit shot him a grateful smile.

Boromir halted abruptly, pointing ahead. "It's there."

The rest of the Fellowship gathered at the base of the mountain, studying the void that was dark even compared to the rest of the mountainside. From afar, the cave was the mouth of a monster, jagged teeth leading to darkness and a grisly demise. Rather than promise safety from the relentless wind like other crevices, it  _dared_  them to enter, gleefully whispering promises that they would find no haven within. Was the ominous impression meant to ward off the unwanted traveler or was it a warning to those that needed to enter it?

_A frightening aura will not be the Temple's only defense._

"Are we certain about this?" Elladan voiced his reservations. "This final trek will be dangerous and some of us are not currently at our best."

"I'm fine." Aragorn and Elrohir echoed. Neither quailed beneath the glower their brother shot them.

"We are well enough to continue." Aragorn amended, voice regaining its usual strength.

"And we will not sit out here while you finish the journey without us." Elrohir added.

Pippin said nothing, but Legolas saw him nod, his gaze never leaving the cave's ominous opening. Elladan's expression grew pinched as he looked between his stubborn brothers. Eventually he sighed and relented.

"Very well. If we die because we ran into a trap due to your injured hides, I will be very cross." He threatened, the undercurrent of genuine concern in his voice unsettling Legolas.

"We won't." Aragorn stated. He shifted on Legolas's back and the elf reluctantly set him down. The Ranger stayed steady on his feet, and if Legolas were unaware of his injuries, he might believe that his friend was completely well. "We've endured so far. Let us see this to the end."

Staff alight, Gandalf led the way, with a torch-bearing Boromir right behind him. The rest of the Fellowship followed them one by one, vanishing between the sharp stones as they headed into the cave. Legolas cast one last, cursory glance behind him, spotting and sensing nothing amiss in the barren land or distant trees. He took one final, deep breath of the chilly air, and then stepped past the barbed mouth of the cave and into the darkness.


	18. Erratic

Faramir paced back and forth in the hallway, glancing at the closed door to the elves' room. He took five steps forward, turned, and retraced his path, hands behind his back and fingers pressed against his forearms. The door squeaked open and Fael beckoned to him. Faramir entered the room and shut the door quickly.

"Is something wrong?"

"No." Megilag reassured him. "We just wanted your opinion."

He gestured vaguely at his clothes, and Faramir understood what he was asking. Their traveling clothes had been cleaned, the attire nowhere near what royalty would be expected to wear but still more well-made than most human fabrics. Faramir had considered letting the elves borrow fancier clothing but the Gondorian style would be noticed, and they were low on time. The elves also looked uneager to part with their practical tunics for more extravagant garments.

 _A dress would certainly be more difficult to fight in—_ Faramir withheld a grimace.  _They will not need to fight. My father is a bit… overly concerned at this time, but he will not harm guests._

Faramir desperately hoped his thoughts were correct. "Your attire is acceptable. My father will not expect you to be clothed in formal robes. He understands that you travel as warriors, not royalty."

"That is what I hoped." Megilag said gravely. He looked to his sister, who stared at her reflection in the mirror leaning against the wall. "Bereneth?" He spoke her name cautiously, as if he feared doing so would rip away all the fragile awareness she had regained. When his sister looked at him, he continued. "Will you be… alright?"

Faramir hid a wince behind a mask of calm, knowing exactly what the elf was truly asking his sibling. Although his conversation with Bereneth had assisted her, she was far from well, her unnatural quietness and somber aura lingering over her like poisoned shadows. Yet she  _had_  improved. That fact was undeniable, for rather than drift like a ghost, she appeared more thoughtful and withdrawn than fading.

"I will be fine." Bereneth said softly. "He will expect you to speak with him, not me."

"You are the oldest." Fael agreed. He clapped his brother on the shoulder. "You get to have fun talking politics."

"Joy." Megilag said dully. He straightened his shoulders. "Shall we?"

They stepped out of the door, and the elves became different people. Gone were the insecurities, the smiles, and the laughter, replaced by the air of calm their race was known for. They might as well be made of stone, immovable and unbreakable as they swept through the corridors to the throne room.

Faramir went first, bowing just inside the room. "The Royals of Mirkwood, as you requested, my lord."

Denethor sat in a black chair at the base of the steps that led up to the empty throne. His clothes were pristine, his hair smooth and clean, but his lips turned down into a scowl and his eyes glinted with something dark and ominous. Faramir could not place whether it was malice, anger, or fear that his father tried to hide, but upon seeing the elves enter and bow, his scowl deepened.

"So the elusive elves of Mirkwood have finally decided to grace me with their presences." Denethor said coldly.

"We meant no offense, Lord Denethor." Megilag said, head still bowed. "We required time to recover from our journey."

"Is that so?" Denethor asked, dark eyes sweeping over them. "I have been informed that Faramir granted you sanctuary—" His lips twisted and his teeth bared. "—within Minas Tirith."

"He has been a gracious host." Megilag claimed, something more than political warmth entering his voice. He glanced at Faramir, and some of the stoniness left his gaze.

"I see." Denethor said calmly, his tone harshly contrasted by the curl of his lip. He looked at his son and Faramir struggled not to flinch under the burning weight of his gaze. "He had no such permission from me."

The elves remained calm and distant, but Megilag's eyes never left Faramir. The man stepped forward, signaling for the elf not to say anything.

"I apologize, my lord. I did not think it was necessary to inform you of their arrival until they recovered."

"I thought I made myself perfectly clear that no elves were to step foot within my city." Denethor snarled.

Faramir withheld a grimace. "Shadowed Elves are our enemy, my lord. The Royals of Mirkwood are our allies."

"So they claim." Denethor said ominously. He spoke as if the elves were not standing there, but his eyes stared straight at them, as if his glare alone would be enough to expel them from Minas Tirith. "Are you not my loyal soldier?"

 _I am your loyal_ _ **son**_ _,_  Faramir thought. He kept it to himself. "I am, my lord."

"You claim to be loyal, yet you undermine my authority." Denethor hissed.

"Never, my lord." Faramir insisted.

Denethor glowered at him, and Faramir prayed he imagined the madness lurking behind those eyes. His gaze flicked from his son to the elves, and his expression cleared. Once, that calm look would bring joy to Faramir's heart, but now it only brought caution and unease.

"I understand what has happened here." The Steward of Gondor said pleasantly. His fist slammed into the arm of his chair, making it crack, and he rose with the fury of a boiling thunderstorm. "You've enchanted him, witch!"

Bereneth flinched and her brothers stepped closer to her, muscles taut in preparation to fight. Denethor hardly seemed to notice them, glowering only at the elleth in their midst. Faramir placed himself between the elves and his father, hope that this would not end in a fight dwindling. His father's recent temper was the only reason the guards had not come in yet, and Faramir could not say how long that reprieve would last.

"My lord, please remember yourself." He pleaded. "These are Royals of Mirkwood. You cannot—"

"You cannot tell me what I cannot do!" Denethor snarled. "I know the truth! The elves have conspired to put a puppet on the throne. They have already taken Boromir from me." For just a moment, his face crumpled.

Faramir's heart sank. "Father, Boromir is  _alive_. He is on a mission to—"

"Lies!" Denethor ranted. "Lies and deceit! I've already lost one of my sons to your treacherous schemes! And now you have put a spell on my younger! Guards!" Gondorian soldiers marched into the room, weapons drawn. "Throw the  _Royals of Mirkwood_  into the dungeons." Denethor ordered.

Faramir's heart stuttered, but to his relief, the men hesitated. Though some eyed the elves suspiciously, none of them moved to arrest them. In fact, some of them looked to Faramir for guidance. The elves noticed this as well and stayed perfectly still, back-to-back.

"What are you doing? Arrest them!" Denethor commanded.

The soldiers did not move or speak.

"Even you have turned against me?" Denethor snarled lowly.

Still, the soldiers did not move. Faramir prayed their common sense would hold. If they hurt the Royals…

"There are no conspiracies here, father." Faramir said as calmly as he could. "Harming them will be seen as an act of war. We cannot afford to turn on each other now."

Denethor stared at him, and for a moment, the insanity faded, and Faramir saw the man his father once was.

_Clang!_

They turned to see a Gondorian soldier stumble into the doorway, armor clanging against the stone of the arch as he leaned against it. His helmet was gone, his hair covered in sweat, and when his eyes locked with Faramir, his pupils were blown wide with terror.

"We are under attack." The Gondorian panted. "The Void's forces are here!"

His proclamation was met with silence. Even Faramir's voice failed him, leaving him wallowing in shock in despair. The elves too did not react, exchanging glances as their rigid masks slipped away to reveal a dawning horror. A sound tore through the air and the three elves and many men flinched, reaching for their weapons as they turned as one to its source.

Seemingly oblivious to the stares, Denethor continued to laugh.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Water dripped down the cave walls and fell to the floor with echoing plops. Some were soft, almost gentle pitters, while others thudded boldly onto the ground, their timing far apart enough to startle the travelers more than once. Although the numerous, reverberating sounds made the tunnel seem large and expansive. In truth, that sense of space was nothing more than a lie.

For every step they took, the walls closed in and the option to walk in pairs was soon unavailable, forcing them to walk in a single line. The pathway grew smaller and smaller still, and the tallest among them might have to stoop if the ceiling got any lower. Legolas hoped they would not be forced to crawl.

It did not help that the only sound accompanying the plops of dripping water was that of slow steps and low breathing, and although Gandalf's staff and the torches lit the passageway well enough, the others' bodies seemed too close, like they would crush him as easily as the walls of stone. Despite the magnitude of it, Legolas kept his discomfort inside. The others were becoming as uncomfortable as he— Even the dwarves were struggling not to give in to distress. He could see it not only in their movements but the stiffness of their postures— but those with more control did their best to keep calm for those that could not. Was it merely the thin, cramped halls and the knowledge of how much stone lay above them that disturbed them, or the mountain itself that sought to make them turn tail and flee?

Sam was the most visibly unsettled by the increasingly claustrophobic environment. His breathing gradually quickened, coming in soft little pants, and Legolas knew if he did not calm down he may hyperventilate. The assassin leaned over to the person in front of him, who happened to be Gimli.

"Could you let me by?" he requested softly.

The dwarf shot him a skeptical look but, upon following his gaze to Sam, nodded and let Legolas awkwardly switch places with him by stepping both over and around him. Neither the elf nor the dwarf commented on it, and Legolas took his new place behind Sam.

"Sam?" The hobbit looked back at his name. "Could you tell me about some of the flowers that grow in your gardens?"

"Of course, Mister Esgal." Sam said, surprised. "Er, but if you don't mind me asking… why do you want me to?"

"I'd like to hear about them." Legolas said. "And truthfully, I prefer the outside world to stone walls."

He let the implied hint that he was uncomfortable and wished for a distraction to calm himself hang in the air. Sam caught on, eyes lighting up eagerly with a desire to help.

"Me too." he agreed. "There are so many beautiful flora out there. My garden was mostly food and potatoes back home, but I also had my own personal garden of flowers. There were golden buttercups, daffodils, daisies, cornflowers— which I know are weeds but when I manage to keep them out of the crops I admit their coloring is beautiful…"

Sam's soft, eager chatter filled the silence and the heavy atmosphere lightened as everyone listened in. Legolas' muscles loosened and he marveled at Sam's knowledge, passion, and empathy. The hobbit's own discomfort was forgotten in favor of soothing a companion's unease, and although Legolas intended to ask about the flowers to distract and calm Sam, the hobbit managed to calm him as well.

The tunnels grew smaller and the tallest of the group had to stoop over to continue on, but the mood was considerably lightened as they listened to Sam's detailed descriptions of the many hues of flowers he possessed. Legolas could picture them vividly— bright yellows, soft pinks, vibrant reds, calm blues— and the unnerving plainness of the grey stone walls dwindled until it was nearly nonexistent.

The ground sloped slowly downward widening instead of constricting around them and the passage ended, widening into a black void that the light could hardly pierce. The Fellowship exited the cramped tunnel, and Gandalf's staff brightened, illuminating their surroundings.

The mountain was almost completely hollow. The ceiling was nowhere in sight and the opposite walls were surprisingly far away. Legolas stared up into the blackness that resisted Gandalf's light, surprised the stone behemoth that pressed down on them was more like the shell of an egg in comparison to its girth.

Elladan squinted into the darkness and gasped. "Is that…?" He pointed at a black shape that could barely be seen in the blackness.

"The Temple." Boromir finished.

Legolas studied the distant structure, only able to make out a vague shape and a few spires. It was as if the darkness clung to the Temple, keeping it hidden from the unobservant. Yet visibility was not the greatest problem with the structure.

"Where's the bridge to it?" Merry yelped.

For the Fellowship's passage had ended in a cliff. The space they found themselves on was big enough, but it only extended a few meager feet over the chasm that separated them from the Temple. When Merry kicked a loose stone over the edge, there was no sound of when it landed, not even for the elves' sensitive ears. The abyss was more than three hundred yards across. It was impossible to jump by a  _large_  margin and unless one of them spontaneously gained the ability to fly, they had no way to reach it.

Gimli crept to the edge of the chasm, kneeling down and inspecting the rock-face. "The walls are too smooth. We cannot scale down to the bottom."

"How are we supposed to get there?" Eomer asked, gesturing at the distant Temple.

Legolas joined Gimli at the precipice, leaning over and looking down into the darkness. A familiar tingling feeling prodded at the assassin's skin, making it prickle. He frowned and held out his hand. When he moved it left, the tingling increased. He walked along the edge as the others continued their discussion behind him.

"Perhaps there is a bridge somewhere?" Frodo offered.

"Unless you want to sidle on a two-inch ledge, I hope not." Fili commented, pointing at such a ledge as it went into the darkness.

"What if that is the way we must go?" Aragorn asked.

"Are you saying we have to walk on that all the way around the mountain to over there?" Merry demanded, slightly hysterical.

Legolas felt eyes on him and looked back to see Elrohir watching him intently. As their eyes met, the twin's fingers twitched and he rubbed them together. Could he feel the tingle as well? Legolas turned back to the chasm and continued his test. As his hand hovered over an empty space, the tingling increased, going up his arm. He crouched at the spot, grimacing, and carefully patted the air. His hand connected with something solid. After patting the 'air' a few more times to be sure, he recognized the feeling of smooth stone beneath his fingers.

"There's a path." He said.

The others finally noticed what he was doing and gathered around him. Gandalf crouched beside the assassin and put his hand next to Legolas'. His blue eyes widened.

"Esgal is correct. There  _is_  a path here. It's been hidden by magic." he said, surprise clear in his voice.

"Really? It's invisible?" Kili asked, awed.

"Yes. It is not as uncommon as you think." Gandalf frowned. "The One Ring could grant its wearer invisibility."

"But isn't the One Ring evil?" Pippin murmured.

Merry shushed him.

Gandalf did not appear to notice. He rose to his feet, brushing dirt off his robes. "Can anyone else tell where the path is?"

"I can." Elrohir murmured.

Aragorn squinted at the spot. "There's…  _something_."

"Of course I can." Gimli huffed. "All stone sings to me."

"What does it talk about?" Legolas asked innocently. "How dull it is to be a rock?"

Gimli rolled his eyes and ignored his teasing. Gandalf murmured something and raised his staff. The tip glinted a brighter white before fading to its normal brightness.

"I can see it now." Gandalf said, gazing at 'nothing'. "The path is broken and there are many gaps. We shall have to go in single file. I shall go first and leave marks where I step. Step  _only_  where I do, or you may fall."

"Oh dear." Sam whispered.

"The jumps are not too far." Gandalf reassured him. "You hobbits will be fine."

Despite his words, Legolas noticed the Wizard prodding a shorter member of the Fellowship towards those with longer legs, spacing them out so those that could catch them would be close enough to do so. Noting the absence of a certain Ranger, Legolas looked away from the forming procession and to the mouth of the passage. Aragorn leaned against the stone wall, eyes closed and face glossy with sweat in the flickering light. Boromir and Legolas exchanged a look. The elf went in front of Aragorn while the Captain lingered over to the side.

"Estel, I will carry you across." Legolas said.

The man opened his eyes and frowned. "I can—"

"Estel, _I will carry you across_." Legolas stated in the exact same tone of voice.

"The path is perilous. You will have difficulty keeping your balance while carrying me." Aragorn argued.

"I have a better chance of keeping my footing while carrying you than you do standing on your own two feet." Legolas said bluntly.

Aragorn took one look at his face and gave in. He climbed onto the elf's back, leaning his head on his friend's shoulder. "This is humiliating." he murmured, though Legolas could tell he did not mean his words. Mostly.

The elf chuckled and deigned not to reply. The group shuffled into a line, making an odd pattern that had no rhyme or reason upon first glance, but a second scan revealed they were lined up so the more balanced members hovered near the clumsier. Gandalf led the way, followed by Boromir, then Frodo, Sam, Elrohir, Kili, Fili, Merry, Pippin, Elladan, Gimli, Legolas carrying Aragorn, and with Eomer bringing up the rear. Some were less pleased by their placement than others— wishing to be near family and close friends— but they remained where they were for the good of the group.

Gandalf stepped confidently into open air, foot pressing down on nothing, and took another step. Pippin's nervous gasp cut off as the Istar appeared to float, leaving white marks in his wake. Boromir hesitated before following suite and the unease slipped from his features when he did not plummet into the abyss.

Slowly, the rest of the Fellowship walked onto the platform, some nervous, others hiding it, and the distance between them and the cliff face slowly extended. Legolas did his best not to look down, relying on the white marks at the bottom of his vision and the vague tingle of magic to guide him. He focused on his companions and the crunch of his shoes on rock below his feet rather than the emptiness around them, trusting Gandalf to lead them through.

The path wound back and forth, never doubling back, and if a foolish soul thought they found it and charged straight across, they'd soon find themselves falling to their demise. The width of the path also changed, and Gandalf called warnings to step exactly where he did in those sections that were barely wide enough for a booted foot. If Legolas moved his feet to the side, he could feel the edge of the stone. He kept his eyes ahead, looking forward and not down as he was forced to place his foot in front of the other.

Three heads in front of him, Pippin wobbled, arms flailing as he tilted back and forth. Elladan leaned over and grasped the hobbit's shoulders, holding him until he steadied himself. Pippin looked down, sweat visible in the pale light of the torches and Gandalf's staff.

"Look ahead, Pippin." Elladan encouraged firmly.

Pippin gulped and nodded, focusing on Merry's back. The hobbit was slightly further along, with those behind him delayed by the hobbit's near-fall. Legolas could see the tension in his posture but he evidently did not trust himself enough to be able to look back without falling. Gandalf halted and allowed the stragglers to catch up, gazing at empty air two feet in front of him.

"Mind yourselves. There is a gap."

"Wonderful." Sam said faintly.

Gandalf leapt fearlessly into the air, landing firmly with his feet shoulder-width apart. He stepped a few times more, leaving an area of white marks, then strode a few steps more to give the others room to land.

"Come now. The path is fairly wide again. There is no need to fear."

"Should I carry Frodo across?" Boromir asked, eying the empty space between the marks warily.

"That won't be necessary." Gandalf assured him.

Boromir nodded and jumped, landing safely. Frodo followed without hesitation. Sam did as well, his nervousness easing when he felt solid rock under his feet. The rest of the Fellowship slowly followed until they made it across. When Eomer landed without issue, there was an audible sigh of relief.

They continued on, and the bridge thinned again, barely a hands-width across. Legolas watched Gimli carefully, but the dwarf was sturdy, walking on the thin stone with more confidence than some of the others.

Gandalf stopped again, grimacing. "There is another break."

"But we can barely stand on this side!" Merry protested.

"The other end is no bigger." Gandalf informed them. "And the stone is weak. The distance will only grow, I fear."

"Is there a brace?" Eomer asked.

Gandalf looked back at him, expression unreadable. "Indeed."

 _He's lying_ , Legolas thought.  _But why?_

He considered the possibilities and a chill went up his spine. Gandalf claimed the path was broken into pieces, and he lied about braces supporting the bridge. If those two facts were true, then only the pieces connected to the ends of the abyss should still be there. The rest should have fallen.

Was the bridge they were currently standing on  _floating in midair?_

Legolas shivered, and noticed Gandalf's blue eyes on him. The Istar looked away first, but his warning stare told the assassin his guess was the truth. Legolas exhaled, careful not to tense and alert Aragorn something was amiss. He knew some things about magic, but was nowhere near knowledgeable. He had heard of spells that reacted to its target's emotions, however, and if this bridge was under one of them…

Panic could literally be their downfall.

Gandalf crossed the space in the bridge, landing smoothly with one foot in front of the other. He wobbled slightly but maintained his balance, pacing forward before turning to his followers. The white marks were thinner than his feet.

"Oh dear." Sam said faintly.

"You will be fine, Master Hobbit." Kili assured him, leaning so he could see past Elrohir.

The elf's hand twitched, raising slightly in preparation to catch the dwarf, and although Kili scowled at Elrohir, he soon found himself facing his brother's warning glare as well. Kili shifted back into place, and Fili noticeably relaxed.

"Don't do that, Kili." He scolded. "You need to be more—  _AHHH!_ "

The stone near Fili's foot crumbled. The dwarf swayed and tipped sideways, leaning precariously over the abyss while Kili froze, gaping at his brother in terror. Elrohir jumped over Kili and grabbed the front of Fili's shirt, pulling him to safety. Thick fingers grasped the elf's forearms and wide, startled blue eyes stared at him before Fili nodded sharply.

"Thanks." He croaked.

Elrohir nodded in acknowledgement, glancing back at Kili.

The brown-haired dwarf smiled nervously. "You can stay where you are if you want."

Elrohir straightened, settling into his new place in the group without comment.

"Please be careful." Gandalf said sharply. "Boromir."

The man leaped over the empty air, resting on the other side with surprising grace. Frodo followed after, crouching before jumping over the gap and landing unsteadily. Boromir grabbed his arm until he balanced himself. Frodo looked back at Sam and raised his arms level with his ribs.

"It is not as difficult as you think. You can do it, Sam."

Sam gulped visibly and jumped, landing in front of Frodo. The brown-haired hobbit held the gardener firmly— the gardener gripping him with nervous fervor— until Sam nodded and they released each other.

"It's not that bad." Sam commented, shooting an encouraging smile behind him.

The sheen of sweat on his brow showed the slight fib, but when Pippin relaxed, Legolas could understand why he said it. Kili jumped across with his usual eagerness, almost strutting along the other side, and when Elrohir landed behind him, Fili called out to the elf.

"Smack my stupid brother for me, would you?"

Elrohir smiled and lightly plopped his hand down on Kili's head. The dwarf's scowl shifted between him and Fili.

"I made it." He huffed.

Fili settled on Elrohir's other side, jabbing a finger at Kili. "After all these years you're still a reckless fool. The heights are no place for showing off. You should know better."

Kili's scowl deepened.

"Argue later, you two." Boromir warned. "Preferably not when we're here."

Merry, Pippin, Elladan, and Gimli all crossed in that time, leaving Legolas, Aragorn, and Eomer on the other side. The elf eyed the bundle of floating white marks critically and jumped, landing slightly beyond them for safety. He could feel the edges of the stones on both sides of each boot. Something crunched and clattered and he cocked his head.

"Eomer, the rock just—"

Eomer landed behind him and plunged. Legolas twisted, grabbing the man's arm as the stone gave out beneath him. He heard Aragorn cry out behind him as he fell to his knees, kneecaps cracking against the stone. Legolas breathed through his nose, slowly sliding down so he was laying on his front and keeping his grip on Eomer. The man swung in the open air, one hand in Legolas' grasp while the other desperately clung to the edge of the crumbling bridge.

"Eomer!" Boromir cried.

"I have him." Legolas grunted.

Eomer hung from his hold, his weight pulling at his shoulder, while Aragorn pressed down on his back, crushing the air from his lungs. Legolas bit his lip, focusing on breathing as pain lanced through his arm, torso, and knees. Eomer's legs stopped flailing and he did his best to stop swinging in order to lessen the burden on his savior.

"What do we do?" Pippin cried, audibly panicked.

"Esgal, can you pull him up?" Boromir demanded urgently.

"No." Legolas said shortly.

"I'm getting off you." Aragorn said clearly.

"Be careful. Don't stand on your own." Legolas grunted.

He felt Aragorn slide off his back, carefully creeping down his legs until he was settled on the thin pathway. Legolas no longer felt like he was being crushed, but his arm still ached. No longer having to fear dropping Aragorn, he grabbed Eomer's wrist with his other hand. The man's fingers were white and shaking. The assassin tried to back up and pull Eomer with him but his weight shifted dangerously so he stopped.

"I can't get leverage." Legolas reported tightly. He felt Aragorn grab his legs and huffed a laugh. "I do not think that will help, Estel."

"Perhaps it will." Aragorn said. "Gimli, grab onto me."

"I think I know what you're doing, lad." Gimli said.

Legolas glanced behind him to see the Fellowship moving about, lowering themselves closer to the stone and grasping one another by the legs or hips. Even the hobbits joined in, with Merry whispering a warning for Pippin not to pull to hard and lose his balance.

"Carefully." Aragorn said. "Back up a step."

The Fellowship did, using their combined strength and balance to keep themselves stable. Legolas felt himself slide back a step. He locked eyes with Eomer and smiled. "Keep holding on."

The man swallowed. "I will."

"Again." Aragorn ordered.

The Fellowship moved. One step at a time, they dragged Legolas and Eomer onto the bridge until the man's torso was up on the structure. He let go of one of Legolas' hands, pulling himself forward, and sat on the thin pathway, legs curled up in front of him. Legolas carefully got his feet under him and settled into a crouch.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes. Thank you." Eomer said, breathing hard.

Legolas nodded and slowly stood, balancing. He helped Eomer to his feet and looked to Aragorn. The man hesitated, still sitting down.

"I…"

Legolas crouched again. "Climb on."

Aragorn grasped his shoulders and secured himself there. Legolas straightened, turning back to the way they were going.

"We're ready."

"The rest of the path is connected." Gandalf reassured them. "We are almost there."

They continued their trek, following in his glowing footsteps. The bridge widened, no longer forcing them to creep on the thin ledge, and the opposite side of the chasm grew nearer and nearer. Legolas could see Pippin's desire to run to the other end but he refrained, mindful of the accident that nearly took one of their own.

Finally, their feet rested on safe, visible ground, and Kili flung himself at the dark stone, laughing. "I never want to do that again!"

"We may have to." Boromir said reluctantly. "How else will we get out?"

Kili sat up, cringing. "Surely there must be an easier way?"

"We can only hope." Gandalf said gravely.

Legolas set Aragorn down. His friend breathed heavily, but kept his balance, standing on his own two feet as he gave the assassin a grateful smile.

"Thank you, Esgal. I do not think I could have done that on my own." He confessed.

"I'm certain you will repay me later." Legolas said warmly, clasping his friend's shoulder.

He checked the others, reassuring himself they were all there, before turning his gaze to their destination. The Temple was even more intimidating up close. It did not look like the place that held the artifacts that would save their world. In fact, many would easily believe it was the fortress of an enemy that would destroy it.

The structure was carved from stone as black as night, with spike-like spires decorating its parapets that reminded Legolas of a Spider's legs. The stones themselves were equally sharp, jutting out in jagged patterns that dared any fool to attempt to climb the walls. Just by looking at them, Legolas knew the slightest touch would tear through skin and slice open flesh, leaving the climbers with gaping wounds. The only path into the Temple was a deceivingly open hole in the wall, lacking even the simplest door. Studying the supposed entrance, the assassin wondered if it was a trap.

Sam shivered.

"Are you alright?" Boromir asked him.

"I'm fine." The hobbit claimed. "It just isn't the friendliest-looking place." His wide eyes swept over the Temple and he shuddered once more.

**CRASH!**

The sound of falling rock made elicited a scream from more than one person. Legolas stepped in front of Aragorn as he turned, watching the bridge materialize as it fell into the abyss behind them. Chunks ricocheted off the stone walls, breaking into smaller pieces and spewing plumes of dust in their wake as they descended into the darkness. The remnants of the bridge soon vanished, and the echoes of its fall followed after, leaving a heavy silence behind.

Pippin broke it with a high-pitched, hysterical giggle. "We were just on that!"

"I think that may be the point." Gandalf murmured. His blue eyes went back to the Temple and he gripped his staff tightly. "The only way to go now is forward."

A soft wind rustled their hair and curved through the spiked parapets, creating a sound comparable to a mourning widow's wail. They had passed the first obstacle.

What could come next?


	19. Reparation

The entrance of the Temple beckoned to the Fellowship, tantalizing and repulsive in equal measure. It invited them welcomingly, but Legolas could not shake the feeling that its innocent emptiness held a malicious trap. Yet the only way left to go was forward, so they had no choice but to walk into potential danger and spring it.

"Gandalf, can you sense any magic?" Boromir asked.

Did he feel the same unease as Legolas? A glance at the man's stiff visage said yes. The elf studied the entrance again but not even his sharp eyes could pierce the darkness and see what lay in store for them.

"I'm afraid not." Gandalf said gravely.

"Enough dawdling." Gimli growled. "Let's move on."

"If you want to set off any traps in there, be my guest." Eomer muttered.

Gimli either did not hear or chose to ignore him. The dwarf confidently walked into the Temple's entrance, passing through the wide doorway. Legolas followed him instinctively, hoping his reflexes would be enough to get them both out of danger if the worst happened. No pits opened in the floor and no weapons flew from the walls, so the rest of the Fellowship hesitantly crept forward into the Temple's ominous hallway.

Gimli scoffed. "See? Nothing to worry—"

**Bang!**

The sound of metal striking stone boomed behind them and they spun to see a door had fallen over the entrance, blocking it. The torches' flames and the light in Gandalf's staff extinguished, plunging them into darkness, and a few of the travelers screamed.

"I can't see!" Merry cried.

"I cannot see either." Elladan said much more calmly. "Esgal?"

"Nothing." The assassin grunted as his eyes refused to adjust to the darkness. The hallway was the darkest place he had ever been in, with not the tiniest beam of light piercing the blackness. The elf could not even see his hand when he waved it in front of his face.

"Eomer, the torch." Gandalf urged.

"It won't light." The man of Rohan said tightly.

Sharp, panicked breaths sounded from Legolas's left and he reached out, gently grasping Pippin's hand. The hobbit jolted in his hold but soon relaxed. That gave Legolas an idea.

"Everyone, grab onto each other."

He carefully reached out and his fingers bumped against Gimli's calloused palm. The dwarf grasped his hand firmly. Somewhere behind them, someone yelped.

"Sorry, Mister Aragorn!" Sam apologized, voice slightly higher with dismay.

"It's fine." Aragorn said, worryingly strained. "Sam accidentally hit my side."

"I'm sorry." Sam apologized again.

"It is alright." Aragorn said, but Legolas knew it wasn't.

The elf mentally berated himself for not insisting on carrying the injured Ranger again. Aragorn was mobile through sheer stubbornness alone, but that determination would eventually run out. He could only hope they were in a safer place when his friend inevitably collapsed.

"Keep ahold of each other." Boromir advised them. "These halls may be dangerous."

"I never would have guessed." Elladan said, tone clipped.

Legolas understood his agitation. As elves, it was rare for them to be unable to see, and this complete darkness was decidedly unnerving to say the least. Legolas could only hope the defenses keeping the Void from finding the Temple truly existed and were functional. Otherwise Iãgaw could appear right out of the shadows and they would never see him coming. Legolas dismissed such farfetched, illogical fears and focused on his footing. It would not do to trip over a loose stone and take down half the line with him.

"Don't be sarcastic about this." Boromir scolded Elladan. "If the path we just crossed is any indication, these halls may very well be filled to the brim with pits and holes. We could easily walk off a precipice."

"Why would we walk?" Merry asked nervously.

Gimli laughed. "Do you expect us to stand here until we grow roots? We have to move sometime, Master Hobbit. But it will not be a problem." Legolas felt Gimli shrug. "A dwarf such as myself is used to traveling through stone halls in the dark."

"Are you saying that in arrogance, Master Dwarf?" Gandalf asked sharply.

"No, he isn't." Fili defended his kin. "He speaks the truth. If the lanterns go out while we are mining, we may have to move through the darkness to reach safety. It is rare, but most of us do learn how to do it."

"Can you lead us out of here?" Eomer asked.

"Of course." Gimli said.

"Then we appeal to your guidance, Master Dwarf." Gandalf said gravely.

Gimli knelt and Legolas heard his fingers brushing the floor.

"What is he doing?" Eomer asked.

"I'm searching for loose stones. We can use them to test whether there is a floor or not unless you want to charge off a cliff."

Eomer did not reply, and although Legolas had half a mind to remind Gimli that Eomer  _had_  nearly fallen off a cliff just moments earlier, he held his tongue. Soon, Gimli stood, a few rocks clattering in the hand Legolas was not holding onto. There was a soft clatter as he threw the stone a pace in front of them. The group stepped forward and Gimli stooped to pick it up. He threw it again and there was no sound.

"Blast. Lost one." He grunted, and turned slightly to the left, tossing another stone.

This one landed on the floor and with a reminder to mind their step, the Fellowship moved along. If walking on an invisible path was bad, Legolas decided the complete lack of sight was worse. There was no way to illuminate the areas that were safe, leaving them inching along as they tried not to fall through a hole in the floor.

Something rumbled.

"…What was that?" Aragorn asked.

The rumble became a scraping, crunching sound and dust fell on Legolas's head. He cocked his head, considering the noises and their direction.

"I do believe the ceiling is coming down." He said steadily.

_Sccrrrrraaaapppppeeeee_

The rumbling was definitely getting closer. Panic rippled through the group like a wave and Gimli cursed.

"These are useless then. We'll have to risk it.  _Move!_ "

The Fellowship ran. They could not see the corridor. They could not see the ceiling bearing down on them. They could not even see each other or their own feet. They could only cling to each other as they ran, holding each other upright as they bent their ankles on jagged tiles and yanking their comrades along so they would not be lost and left behind.

Gimli moved with a confidence that Legolas knew was false, relying solely on instincts to lead them through the darkness. The rumbling never ceased, and Legolas tried to recall how high the ceiling was, calculating they might only have a few heartbeats left before the tallest among them felt it.

Gandalf grunted. "Go!"

"We  _are!_ " Kili shouted.

_Bang!_

Gimli cursed, halting abruptly, and Legolas nearly slammed into him. The dwarf's free hand pounded against something solid.

 _Please let that not be a wall_ , Legolas thought.

"I feel something." Gimli growled. "I think it is a door."

_**ScccrrrrraaaAAPPPPPEEEEE** _

" _Open it_." Eomer urged. "Get us  _out_  of here."

Gimli released Legolas's hand and they heard him touching what sounded like a wooden door, eventually hitting something metal with a low  _clank_. There was another, softer  _clack_  followed by the creak of shifting hinges. A line of light appeared before them, widening into a doorway, and Kili whooped.

The Fellowship raced into a hallway lit by torches, nearly tripping over each other in their haste. The next area split off into multiple, smaller corridors, with Legolas counting at least twenty within sight. He turned back to the dark room but saw no evidence of the ceiling coming down on them, though that could only be due to the opaque darkness. Was the threat there at  _all_? There was no time to ponder.

The Fellowship waited with bated breath, but the torches did not die and plunge them into darkness once more and the ceiling remained where it was. Theybreathed a unanimous sigh of relief, only for Elrohir to whip out his sword and stare at the shadows warily. The Fellowship crowded together, weapons leaving sheathes, but no enemies spawned from the hallways.

Gimli lowered his axe. "Blasted elf! Give me a heart attack why don't you?"

"I apologize." Elrohir said, slowly lowering his sword. "I thought I heard a voice."

"You very well might have, Elrohir." Gandalf said solemnly, adjusting his hat. Legolas noticed it had a new crinkle on the top, nearly bending it in half. "The Temple still holds many perils."

"A voice isn't so scary." Kili scoffed.

"What if it's a ghost?" Merry gasped.

"I'll shoot it with my bow." Kili stated.

"I do not think that would work, brother." Fili said dryly.

"It would for Esgal once he gets the Black Arrows." Frodo pointed out.

"Indeed." Gandalf said. "Let us keep moving."

They walked down the wide, center hallway, eying each smaller corridor uncomfortably as they passed. Other than the soft murmur of the torches' flames and the taps of shoes on stone, the Temple was as silent as a tomb. Fili flipped his sword in his hand nervously and Aragorn forced his eyes to constantly move with obvious exhaustion, while Frodo tensed at every moving shadow.

Legolas kept his weapons sheathed, wanting to keep his hands empty in case he needed to pull a friend out of harm's way. He noticed Pippin lingering at the back of the group and looking down one of the side halls. As he watched, the hobbit crept further down the smaller corridor, staring into the shadows warily.

"Pippin?" Legolas asked.

"I thought I saw something." He said nervously.

Legolas exchanged a glance with Elrohir and they hurried to his side. The others hung back, eyeing the hallways critically as their hands inched towards their weapons. The elves peered into the darkness but saw nothing amiss. The only movement was the flickering torches on the walls and the shadows they cast. The assassin frowned, unwilling to dismiss Pippin's claim just yet. He cast out his senses, taking in the presences of the Fellowship at his back and the area in front of him.

There was a familiar emptiness there.

Legolas's eyes widened. "We are not alo—"

**BOOM!**

The ground shuddered and rocks fell from the ceiling behind them, spraying dust and rubble into the air. Legolas dived at Pippin, shielding the hobbit from the falling debris and holding him close as the floor quivered and danced. The shuddering slowly ceased, leaving only the crackle of small rocks hitting rock, and the elf looked to Elrohir.

"Are you alright?"

Elrohir brushed his dusty hair out of his face and nodded. "Fine." His silver eyes looked past Legolas. "Oh dear."

The assassin turned back to the main hallway and his heart sank. The stones neatly cut them off from the others. He tiptoed through jagged stones and leaned as close to the pile as he dared.

"Aragorn!" There was no response. Legolas tried again. "Aragorn, can you hear me?"

No one on the other side replied. All Legolas could hear was the clatter of falling stones and Pippin and Elrohir's breathing. He stepped away from the rubble, shaking his head.

"They're not answering."

"Are they alright?" Pippin asked, skin pale under the dust covering his face and hair.

"They were far from the collapse. They should be fine." Legolas reassured him.

Neither he nor Elrohir looked convinced. The elf looked at the pile with barely-restrained horror, one worrying sound away from lunging for the stones and trying to dig his way through to his twin. Judging by the amount of rubble that fell, that would be an arduous and wasteful task. They would need to go down the hall and around to try to meet up with the others again. Legolas gazed into the shadowy hallway, ignoring the light given by the torches and staring into the shadows. He doubted the corridor collapsed due to old age.

"You were right, Pippin. There was at least one person down here." Legolas said tersely. "They were using assassination techniques to hide their presences, but created empty spaces where they stood."

"Are they still here?" Pippin asked, eyes roaming the hall while he inched closer to the elves and reached for his sword.

"No." Elrohir answered for them both. "They're gone." His silver eyes drifted to the crumbled stone. "If we had not sensed them, we might have been caught up in that. Perhaps they panicked and—"

He stopped speaking, skin paling several shades. Legolas immediately checked him for blood or wounds, knowing full-well the elf would hide it if he had been injured. He spotted no sign of trauma and looked at Elrohir questioningly. Before his eyes, the barest glimmer of panic crept into Elrohir's stoic, ashen features.

"Esgal," Elrohir said in a tone more suitable for commenting on the weather. "I think they knew about our abilities. They  _intentionally_  separated us from the others. The Fellowship won't see them coming."

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Denethor kept laughing as arrows soared through the doorway of the throne room, killing two of the soldiers instantly. The elves, Faramir, and remaining men dove for cover behind the pillars while Denethor remained in his chair, cackling madly. Faramir ignored his father, mind racing. How did the enemy already get so deep into the city? He knew the answer, though he prayed to the Valar he was wrong.

"Shields!" he ordered his men.

They came together, forming a barrier between themselves and Denethor and the door. Arrows bounced off the shields, with a few lucky shots piercing the metal.

"Forward!" Faramir commanded.

The few guards with spears pointed them forward as the men moved as one, marching through the door and striking the invaders outside. A few orcs fell to the spears and shields, the metal striking them with forces that broke skulls, and Faramir stepped out of cover, slashing a man's throat. Further down the hall, more enemies appeared. To his relief, he did not spot any archers among them. Faramir heard the sounds of battle now, screams and shouts rising up from out in the city.

"Defend the Steward!" Faramir commanded, and the shields fell back to the doorway.

The elves launched themselves over the men and into the hall, joining Faramir as the lone fighters in the open. Megilag and Fael threw themselves at their foes without hesitation while Bereneth lingered at Faramir's back. A man charged him and he parried his thrust, stabbing him through the gut.

Bereneth kicked a Shadowed Elf, snapping his leg, and thrust her sword through his chest as he fell. She twitched, stepping in front of Faramir, and blocked a dagger, sending it into the floor. Megilag slayed the thrower, shoving his corpse into the enemy's ranks, and grabbed the knife off the ground, throwing it into the back of an orc who was trying to flee. The hallway grew empty once more, but Faramir knew it would not last.

"More will come." He predicted. "We should go somewhere more secure." He hurried back into the throne room, speaking to the guards as he went. "We must assume the enemy is throughout the city. We will head to the Halls of Healing and—"

"No." Denethor interrupted. Mad eyes landed on Faramir, burning with an undeserved rage. "I will stay here."

Faramir's heart sank. He resisted the instinct to look at the elves and his men, knowing he could only turn to himself for this. "Father, we  _must_  go." he pleaded.

Denethor remained where he was. Looking at him, Faramir may believe he sat with dignity upon his chair, his hands neatly poised in his lap while he held his chin high. Yet the mad smile never left his face as he looked at his son.

"I will not go anywhere with  _traitors_."

Faramir knew then that he would be unable to convince Denethor differently. The Steward already believed his son was lost. Faramir gritted his teeth and looked to the guards. "Remain here. Guard the Steward." He commanded before turning to the elves. "We must defend the city."

"Of course." Megilag said immediately.

Without looking back at his father, Faramir led the elves away.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Riagán stepped out of the shadows, ignoring the way his skin crawled as he emerged through the Void's darkness. Even after he was free of its grasp, it seemed to cling to him, cold and sticky like chilled blood. He dismissed the feeling, studying the throne room curiously. Elegant black pillars lined the hall, alternating with statues delicately carved from stone. Everything from those statues to the high ceiling to the throne itself spoke of years of history and Kings long passed.

He couldn't wait to burn it.

Riagán carefully set his torch of Dark Fire in one of the holsters on the wall, the wood entering the metal bracket with a low clank. The guards surrounding the Steward whirled towards him, shields raised.

"Halt!" one of them shouted.

Riagán stepped forward and took his head in a single swing. As his body crumpled, his comrades charged. Riagán held his ground and grabbed his whip, embedding the barb in a guard's shield. He yanked the shield from his grasp and used it to bash his comrade's skull in. He flicked the whip free and ensnared a soldier with a spear, throwing him into the others and knocking them to the ground. Riagán stabbed two of the fallen men, giving them no time to rise, and only one remained. He positioned himself between the invader and the Steward, shield raised and sword held in an unwavering grasp.

Riagán smirked, and gestured to him. "Come on, then!"

The soldier foolishly charged him with a yell. Riagán sidestepped and grabbed his shield, ripping it from his grasp. The guard rolled away from him, swiping at the man's legs, but Riagán blocked his sword, wrapping the whip around the weapon and the guard's wrists. A single pull took them from him.

The soldier's scream was sharp and piercing in the silence of the throne room. Riagán grabbed him by the front of his armor, hoisting him up so his feet dangled uselessly above the ground. His sword went through the man like his armor was made of butter and stunned blue eyes stared at him, quickly losing their light.

"I am not impressed." Riagán spat, and yanked his blade free.

The final soldier crumpled and Riagán turned to the Steward. Denethor stared at him, gripping the arm of his chair and making no move to fight or rise.

Mockingly, Riagán bowed. "Greetings, Steward of Gondor. I am Riagán, an…  _ally_  of the Void."

There was no fear in the Steward's face. Riagán might have been impressed, if not for the madness clouding Denethor's mind.

"I have no interest in who you are." The Steward snarled.

Riagán chuckled and gestured at the throne room. "You are uninterested in the man who will burn this city to ashes?"

Denethor stared at him, too lost to feel trepidation and too mad for courageousness. "You think your master can make Minas Tirith fall?"

Anger smoldered like coals in Riagán's veins. "The Void is  _not_  my master." He spat. "I care not for his goals. I only care to see the Ranger Strider  _dead_."

"Strider?" The mad light in Denethor's eyes grew stronger. "Why do you speak of that usurper Aragorn?"

Riagán paused. "'Usurper'?" he murmured.

"The elves conspire against me." Denethor snarled, ignorant to the man's tone. "They plan to place him on the throne of Gondor!"

Riagán nodded slowly. "He is your King." He murmured, and the coals became a fire, ready to devour anything in his path.

"I have no King." Denethor spat.

"You renounce his claim?" Riagán eyed him thoughtfully. He smirked. "I don't care."

And he stabbed Denethor through the chest.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Despite his words, Faramir did not lead the elves down into the chaotic streets. Instead he led them out onto the pinnacle before the citadel. Below them, the city burned, screams and clashing weapons joining the smoke rising into the air.

Megilag hurried to run at Faramir's side. "Where are we going? We cannot get down into the city from here unless you think we can survive that jump."

"You are not going down. You are going up." Faramir stated. "Thiad!"

The young Eagle swooped down from the sky, avoiding a few arrows with deceptive ease as he landed in front of the three elves and one man.

"Are you alright?" he asked worriedly. "The city's being attacked."

"We noticed." Faramir said quickly. "Which is why you must take the Royals back to Mirkwood, please."

"What?" Fael gasped.

"We're not leaving you." Bereneth protested.

Megilag was silent. His solemn eyes never left Faramir's face, and the man looked only at him. Not the shocked Bereneth and Fael. Not the Eagle. Not down into the city where his people fought for their lives.

"You must." Faramir said evenly. "If any of you were to die here, the Sanctuary would fall with you. You must go while you can."

"Do you think we are cowards?" Bereneth demanded, her fire finally revealing itself.

It almost made Faramir smile. Almost, but not quite. "Far from it. You would fight bravely, but doing so would put the Sanctuary in unnecessary danger. The Void is not among the enemy. We will survive.  _Go_."

Bereneth's next protest was silenced as Megilag put his hand on her arm. The elf studied Faramir intently, and for the first time the man noticed the bright green in his hazel eyes. Eventually, those eyes slipped closed, but any grief was locked behind the mask of a leader.

"We shall go." He stated, and his siblings could not argue with him. Megilag reached out and grasped Faramir's forearm. "Thank you for all you have done for us, mellon-nin."

"It is what anyone would do." Faramir murmured, returning the gesture.

Fael soon took his brother's place. "We need to meet again in the future. I quite enjoy your company."

"Same to you."

Bereneth stepped forward, expression pinched as she gave the same, firm grasp. "We will fight alongside each other again someday." She stated.

"We shall." Faramir promised.

Her features relaxed. "Thank you." She whispered.

She turned away and climbed onto Thiad's back. Her brothers followed suit, grasping the brown feathers below them tightly as he prepared for takeoff. Faramir stepped back as Thiad beat his wings, sending gusts of air with each swooping movement. With a final leap, the Eagle pushed off the stone and took to the sky with the elves in tow, leaving the burning city behind them.

Faramir stood there until they were hidden by the clouds.

Then he turned to the citadel and walked off, ready to join the fight.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

"Elladan, we cannot—"

"We have to reach them!"

"You know we cannot. It will take ages to—"

"They could be hurt!"

"Elladan, you need to—"

"Why are you just  _standing_  there? Help me!"

"Elladan, son of Elrond,  _control yourself!_ " Gandalf bellowed.

The elf froze, one hand still placed on the fallen stones that stood between himself and his brother while the other held a smaller rock. As Frodo watched, his pale fingers clenched and red dripped onto the floor. Kili grabbed the elf's hand, yanking it open with an irritated scoff.

"Idiot." He muttered, inspecting the cuts. "Look what you did."

"You would not fare better if it was your brother!" Elladan snapped.

Kili stiffened and closed his eyes, breathing in and out audibly.

"Enough, Elladan." Gandalf said sternly. "We do not have time for such foolishness. Your brother is fine, and is likely searching for another way to us as we speak."

Elladan glared at him, but the expression was soon vanquished by a chagrined one. "You are right. I apologize, Mithrandir, Kili."

"It's fine." The dwarf said with an easy smile.

"What now?" Eomer interjected. "Do we continue on?"

"That is the only thing we can do." Frodo pointed out.

Merry gasped.

Frodo looked to him, and numb shock froze his limbs. The other hobbit stood near the shadows of a dark hall, head tilted back and the clearly visible metal of a sword at his throat. The Fellowship stilled, unable to react without risking Merry's life, and before their eyes a figure materialized from the darkness.

It was a human clothed completely in black, with only brown eyes visible among the dark cloth. The design of the outfit reminded Frodo a bit of Legolas' tunic and face-mask, only colored completely black instead of mottled browns and greens. The weapons the hobbit could spot were also telling, and he prayed none of his companions would act foolishly. The assassin would move much quicker than any of them.

"Release him!" Gimli bellowed, raising his axe.

He froze when Merry whimpered, head forced further back as the sword's edge laid against it. The assassin stared at the Fellowship, unblinking. The shape and coloring of his eyes drew Frodo's attention and he realized this was certainly an Easterling. A second scan showed his sword had no marks. The sight was ironically comforting as Frodo recalled what Legolas told him about Easterlings who refused to defile their weapons by showing off their number of kills.

Without warning, Aragorn emitted a stream of gibberish. Boromir and Fili stared at him, alarmed, but Frodo slowly realized the Ranger was speaking a different language. The Easterling focused on the Ranger, head tipping curiously, and Aragorn said something else, slower this time.

"Has Aragorn lost his mind?" Gimli hissed.

"No. He is speaking their language." Frodo murmured.

"Hush." Boromir shushed them both, watching the exchange intently.

Aragorn kept speaking to the Easterling, hands raised and free of weapons. Finally, the assassin responded, voice surprisingly soft.

Aragorn nodded slowly. "This one is a Guardian of the Temple."

"Have you explained why we are here?" Gandalf asked levelly.

"The Guardians know, as do their commanders." Aragorn said. "This one wants to take us to them."

"We are not enemies of the Temple's protectors." Gandalf said clearly, eyes on the assassin. "We will go with you willingly."

The assassin's eyes narrowed. Frodo felt metal touch his throat. He froze, stunned into stillness by the warm arm around his shoulders, and carefully craned his neck, looking up at the new assassin with wide eyes. The oaths and yelps around him told him the others were in similar predicaments, and a look at his companions proved that to be the case. Only Aragorn remained free.

"What part of 'not an enemy' did you fail to translate?" Gimli growled, glaring murderously at the sword at his throat.

Frodo carefully glanced from person to person, only daring to move his eyes, and hid a grimace. Everyone had gained an assassin of their own, and none of them were happy about it. Of them all, only Gandalf looked completely calm and unaffected by their situation.

"I guess we do not have a choice." He said levelly.

Aragorn said something in the Easterling's language, unthreatening and with hands raised and far from any of his weapons. The first Easterling nodded and they dragged their hostages to the Ranger, closing ranks around him like a strange, perverse guard.

The Fellowship was marched through the weaving halls of the Temple, their path unclear in a way similar to a maze. The Easterlings felt no need to blindfold their hostages, instead relying on the twists and turns they made to their destination to confuse them. Frodo could only hope one of his companions could track the way out, though he suspected it would be difficult for any of them.

Finally, they came upon a room guarded by two more assassins. The two opened the doors and the captured Fellowship was marched through two at a time. The room they arrived in was nothing special, with the only significant detail being the strange array on the floor. That, and the two men stood in the room, both dressed in blue. It was not the color that caught Frodo's attention, but the familiar robes and hat they wore.

Beside the hobbit, Gandalf gasped, calm mask finally slipping as shock took hold. "You! But how? You were sent further East."

The Blue Wizards exchanged a glance before the one on the left nodded. The one on the right grimaced and approached, stopping in front of Frodo.

"It has been too long, my friend. I would love to explain things to you, Olórin." he said softly. "But I am afraid we are out of time. "

His blade swept in a sideways arc, and crimson sprayed into the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we are finally caught up to the Fanfiction version! That means I will update this story when I update that one, so new chapters will appear sporadically.


	20. End of Your Journey

“ _Frodo!_ ”

Sam’s scream pierced the air as the Blue Wizard’s sword slashed Frodo’s arm, slicing it open from his wrist to the inside of his elbow. The injured hobbit did not utter the slightest gasp, his blue eyes going round as his legs buckled. The Blue Wizard dropped him onto the array in the center of the room and Frodo clutched at his injured arm, red slipping between his fingers and onto the ornate circle.

Sam continued to shout Frodo’s name, while the dwarves angrily struggled in their captors’ holds, and Merry, the men, and Elladan stood in stunned silence.

“Alatar, what are you _doing?!_ ” Gandalf bellowed.

“What I must.” The Blue Wizard stated. “The blood ritual will strengthen our defenses.”

His staff touched the array, and Frodo’s blood slid in unnatural patterns on the floor, creeping along the circles like macabre red ink. Aragorn could only watch with horror, numb except for the pounding of his heartbeat.

Gandalf’s skin blanched as he watched, his blue eyes going round. “A blood ritual? That is _Dark_ Magic.”

“Fire must be fought with fire, and darkness with darkness.” The other Blue Wizard stated. “To keep this Temple safe, sacrifices must be made.”

“ _Hear_ yourself!” Gandalf shouted. “Have you forgotten your mission, Pallando? Have you forsaken that Valar?”

“The Valar have forsaken us.” Pallando said softly. “Why do you think They haven't come to help? They know the chances of our victory are slim. They know Middle-earth will likely fall to Iãgaw, so they're hiding “safe” in the Undying Lands. They will not be safe for long if Iãgaw destroys the Weapons. Once Middle-earth fell, the Void would move on to the West and destroy it. None would stand in his way. Which is why we _must_ keep the Temple safe.”

On the ground, Frodo shivered, clutching at his arm. Sam stomped on the foot of the Easterling that held him, tears streaming down his cheeks but he failed to break free. Even Gimli’s more violent struggles were unsuccessful.

“The Temple _is_ safe.” Boromir insisted, standing stiffly with a sword to his throat. “The Void—”

“—knows it exists.” Alatar interrupted. “Can you not sense it? He is coming.”

The silence that followed settled heavily upon the room, as if the Blue Wizard had delivered not a statement, but a prophecy of their doom. That may very well be the case if the words he spoke were true. Aragorn’s thoughts stuttered before they began to race half-baked plans and blind panic fighting a war for control of his consciousness.

“I see you understand.” Pallando said calmly. “I truly am sorry about this but sacrifices must be made. Once the ritual is complete, we may talk as civilized folks.”

“I’ll show you ‘civilized’!” Gimli snarled.

The Easterling holding him shifted his hold on his sword and the dwarf went still, teeth bared. The assassins’ presences caused something in Aragorn’s mind to click and he broke above the surface of his mindless shock.

“The ritual is not necessary.” Aragorn said quickly. “We can fight the Void. We have a Wielder among us.”

That caught the Blue Wizards’ attention. Aragorn noticed all of the Easterlings were eying him with interest as well, their attention diverted from the door.

“Who?” Alatar demanded.

“One of the elves you separated from us. His name is Esgal.” Aragorn explained quickly. “He is the Wielder of Daesīdh.” A shadow moved in the corner of his eye. “Do not kill them.”

Pallando frowned. “What? We have no intention of kill—”

His head snapped back and he crumpled. Having left a sizable welt in the shape of its hilt on his forehead, the dagger that struck him fell to the ground with a clatter. Legolas’s dagger-wielding fist smashed into Alatar’s nose, sending him staggering, and he tripped over Pippin, who darted into view just in time to hit the Wizard in the back of his knees.

Despite the situation, Kili grinned. “Speak of the elf, and he shall appear. Perfect timing, Esgal!”

Legolas did not respond, glaring at the Easterlings. _“(Release them.)_ ” He ordered in Easterling.

The assassins let go of their hostages, lowering the weapons. For a moment, the Fellowship stood in silence, their abrupt freedom shocking them into stillness. Even Legolas looked surprised they actually listened to his command. The Easterlings made no attempt to restrain the Fellowship again, merely standing in place. All of them stared at the violet-eyed elf, who looked back firmly, any shock hidden behind a smooth façade.

Boromir recovered from his shock first. “Gandalf, help Frodo.”

The Wizard dashed to the hobbit’s side, picking him up. At least, he attempted to. Frodo’s blood seemed to spring to life, wrapping around him like chains and keeping him pinned to the array. The hobbit stirred, opening blue eyes that were far too bright against his ashen skin. Gandalf cursed and released him, raising his staff. White light wrapped around the hobbit, only for the blood to lock tighter around Frodo’s body. The hobbit gave a low, pained sound.

“Alatar! Let him _go_.” Gandalf thundered.

The Blue Wizard pushed himself to his feet, eying the Easterlings warily. His unreadable gaze flicked to Legolas, who glared back at him. “I cannot.” He stated. “You may be a Wielder, but we cannot let Iãgaw—”

“Enough of this!” Gimli roared.

He threw himself at the Blue Wizard, who grimaced and raised his staff to block the blow.

Gandalf jerked, reaching for the dwarf. “Gimli don’t—”

Gimli’s axe sliced clean through the staff as if it were butter. It exploded into blue light and Alatar staggered back, staring at the broken shards of the weapon in shock. The blood binding Frodo instantly lost its unnatural animation, settling lifelessly against the hobbit’s pale flesh. Frodo gave a shuddering gasp and Gandalf and Elrohir knelt at his side, lifting him to a clean section of the floor and leaning over him.

Without a word passing between them, the Fellowship closed ranks around the hobbit, elf, and Wizard, keeping an eye on the Easterlings and Blue Light gathered around the tip of Gandalf’s staff as Elrohir ruffled through his bag. The assassins watched the proceedings in silence, never reaching for their sheathed weapons.

Stunned eyes met the enraged Gimli’s and Alatar’s empty hands lowered. “You’re…”

Gimli shoved his axe close to the Wizard’s chest. “Give me a reason I should not gut you.”

Alatar wisely raised his hands in surrender. “We are not your enemies.”

The dwarf bared his teeth. Any reply he might have given went unvoiced as Frodo’s eyes fluttered. He stirred, moaning, and slowly opened his bright blue eyes, peering around blearily. Sam turned away from the circle, kneeling at Frodo’s side, and Eomer and Fili immediately closed ranks, closing the opening the hobbit’s absence made. Despite the potential danger, Sam only had eyes for Frodo.

“Frodo?” he called shakily.

Blue eyes focused on the gardener and Frodo smiled weakly. “I’m fine, Sam.”

“I’m sorry for asking this of you but can you stand?” Elrohir urged softly.

Frodo seemed to recall where they were. Aragorn heard him struggle to rise, risking a glance back to see him leaning against Sam.

“If we need to run, I think you will need to carry me.” Frodo whispered, likely to Elrohir.

Alatar heard him anyway. “There is no need for that. As I said, we are not enemies.”

“You have a funny way of showing that.” Gimli growled.

Alatar observed him carefully, like he was studying the contents of his very soul. His eyes flicked to Legolas, who tensed. “You truly are a Wielder?”

“Yes.” The elf stated firmly.

Alatar looked from his fallen kin, to the Easterlings, to the Fellowship, and back again. Aragorn could see his mind working, but had no idea what thoughts went on behind that inscrutable expression. Pallando stirred, lifting his head to see Fili and Boromir’s swords pointed at his face. He raised his hands.

“I… see.” Alatar murmured. “Pallando.” His companion looked to him. “It is time.”

The other Blue Wizard gritted his teeth. “Not yet. We must keep the Temple—”

“The Temple may already be lost. No defenses will prevent that.” Alatar said. “The Weapons, at the very least, will be spared. Two Wielders are here. It is _time_.”

“Two…?” Merry whispered.

Aragorn and Gimli exchanged a confused glance.

Pallando nodded slowly and got up, seemingly oblivious to the way Boromir and Fili’s swords followed his every move. He brushed off his blue robes and sighed, looking to Legolas. “We will take you to the Weapons.”

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Legolas did not trust the Blue Wizards. Not one bit. His daggers remained in his hands as the Fellowship followed them into the lower levels of the Temple, passing through shadowy halls lit only by the torches and two staffs they carried. The darkness made it difficult to keep track of the Easterlings through sight, but Legolas made note of each every one’s location, refusing to fall into complacency. His comrades felt the same, for he caught them eying the Wizards and Easterlings suspiciously. Alatar paused at the top of a set of stairs that led into darker shadows, glancing back at the Fellowship.

“You need not fear us.” he said.

“Pardon us for worrying about knives in our backs after what you attempted to do.” Kili growled, brown eyes flicking to an assassin. The Easterling met his gaze briefly before looking down the hall.

Alatar gave a weary chuckle. “I speak only the truth. In hindsight, our actions were foolhardy. We wish to defend the Temple, but our Easterling friends do not have similar goals. You see, the Guardians listen to the Wielders first and foremost considering you are the ones who can retrieve the Weapons.”

“No wonder they’re loyal to the Wielders since their other leaders are backstabbers.” Gimli snarled.

Aragorn hushed him but was steadfastly ignored.

“That is fair.” Alatar admitted. “I suppose our first impression was not endearing.”

Multiple members of the Fellowship stared at him in cold silence.

“We must put the safety of Middle-Earth over that of the individual.” He continued, seemingly oblivious to the glares. “A hobbit is not a Wielder. It was an acceptable price.”

Legolas stopped Gimli from raising his axe, shaking his head in warning.

“This mission has warped your morals, Alatar.” Gandalf said gravely.

The two Blue Wizards exchanged a glance. “Perhaps.” Alatar said. “However, if the Void is coming as we fear… You’d best hope you do not lose.”

None of the Fellowship quite knew what to say in response to that ominous statement, so they kept quiet. As the Fellowship and their guides strode through the corridor their shoes tapped loudly in the eerie silence, each step loud and startling in a way that seemed to inform every creature within range that they were there. Down the hall came echoing creaks, like the Temple itself was a waking beast and a few of the travelers instinctively attempted to quiet their steps, unwilling to attract anything that may lurk in the darkness.

Only Legolas and the Easterlings made no noise, passing over the stone like ghosts. The violet-eyed elf felt their eyes on him but did his best to ignore them, disconcerted by their unwavering attention. If something were to lunge from the shadows, he predicted one of them would eagerly take the blow for him.

The thought… unsettled him.

Finally, they arrived at a door. It was abnormally plain, consisting only of simple wood and a metal lock, but Legolas’s senses tingled at the cloying presence of magic. Pallando raised his staff, touching the top of the door and light crackled sown it, splitting the wood as glowing runes revealed themselves. The light vanished and Pallando took out a simple set of keys from his robe.

“A thief stole an arrow many years ago.” He explained as he unlocked the door. “We decided increased enchantments were in order.”

Legolas knew he was not merely speaking of the door, and when it swung open, he was proven correct. Their destination was far from a normal room. Although its shape was simple, with four walls and a low ceiling, its design hid a trap ready to be sprung. Intricate carvings covered the walls, ceiling, and floor, the gleaming runes written in a language Legolas could not decipher. He could only guess they may be magical in nature, though their purpose remained unknown.

“After you.” Alatar told him.

Before Legolas could respond, Eomer calmly pointed his sword at the Wizard’s back. “I do not think so. _You_ go first. I insist.”

Alatar did not object. He stepped through the doorway and onto the glowing runes. He did not collapse in a fit of agony or turn to ashes on the spot, but the tingle of magic and heavy enchantments kept Legolas wary. He was not the only suspicious one.

“I don’t trust it.” Gimli muttered. “It might be a trap.”

“I assure you it—”

“I’ll go in next.” Sam said suddenly, interrupting the Blue Wizard. “That way if something goes wrong there’s no risk of—”

“ _No_ , Sam.” Almost every member of the Fellowship said at once.

“That is not necessary. You’re not risking yourself for my sake.” Legolas added firmly.

“But you’re a Wielder.” Sam protested. “And Alatar is right. I’m a hobbit. I can’t be a Wielder so—”

“You’re just as important as anyone else in this Fellowship, Sam. Do not let anyone tell you otherwise.” Boromir said, a hint of anger in his voice.

He glared daggers at the Blue Wizard, and Legolas could not fault him for it. Without warning, Kili walked through the door, ‘accidentally’ hitting Alatar in the midsection with his bow as he passed.

“Sorry.” He said insincerely as the Wizard grunted.

Alatar did not reply. The runes on the walls, floor, and ceiling kept glowing, and Kili stood among them, unharmed. Fili lowered his hand from his sword, shoulders slumping as he gave a shaky exhale, and Legolas briefly patted the dwarf’s shoulder, sympathizing with him for his younger brother’s potentially disastrous act.

“I think that it’s safe.” Kili said belatedly.

“You’re an idiot!” Fili snapped, voice low and wheezy.

Kili shrugged, smiling apologetically. “One of us had to see if something bad would happen. Might as well be me.”

“Idiot.” Fili hissed under his breath.

He entered the room, and the runes glowed serenely, unchanging. Legolas stopped Aragorn from following.

“Let me.” He said firmly. “I’d rather not have all of us trapped in one place.”

Aragorn hesitated briefly and nodded, stepping aside. Legolas glanced at Alatar, who looked back calmly, hands clasped before him and hidden in the sleeves of his robe. Without a word or preamble, Legolas stepped through the doorway. A shudder went through the Temple and Aragorn dashed into the room, grabbing Legolas’s sleeve in preparation to yank him backwards. The elf planted his feet and touched the Ranger’s arm, stopping him.

“Wait. It’s alright.” He said, not quite knowing why.

His instincts did not scream at him to move so he remained in place, sight drawn to the far wall opposite the door. Before his eyes, a line of light slid up the center of the wall as another shudder went through the Temple, rocking the ground and making a few of the unsteady Fellowship members stumble. With a low creak, the wall split in half and slid apart, revealing three small alcoves hidden inside.

The Black Weapons lay on stands forged from iron, elegant, beautiful, and deadly in their simple presentation. They were darker than the shadows themselves, as black as their name stated but somehow more opaque than even the loneliest abyss. If Legolas looked at them too long, the air around them shimmered oddly, as if they were devouring the surrounding light.

Legolas’s violet eyes instinctively sought out the elegant bow sitting by a basin filled with arrows. At first glance, they were nothing special— other than the strange energy they gave off, of course— but closer inspection proved that was far from the case. Daesīdh was… _deadly_. And not simply deadly in that it was a weapon. To Legolas, it looked more like a strange double-bladed sword than a bow, long and slightly curved like a normal bow was but its edges as sharp as poisonous thorns. If someone touched anything other than the smooth grip, Legolas felt as if they would lose a finger at best.

And yet Legolas felt drawn to the Bow. It was not a malignant compulsion, but a simple urge to go to it, like he was moments away from reuniting with a long-lost family member. He was more than a little familiar to that feeling, and so perhaps that was why he did not hesitate to approach.

None of the Fellowship spoke as he fearlessly strode across the room, all eyes following him as he took the final steps of his journey. Without a beat of hesitation, Legolas reached into the alcove containing Daesīdh and his fingers wrapped around the Black Bow.

Rather than icy coldness, warmth spread through his limb and a sense of calm filled him. Daesīdh was a shockingly pleasant temperature, not too hot or too cold like he’d expected. Something drifted at the edge of his consciousness, its presence joyful and soothing. He recognized it as easily as an old friend. Carefully, as carefully as he did when speaking to Shadowed Trees, he connected with the presence flitting hopefully at the edge of his mind.

_Hello, Daesīdh._

Pure, unadulterated joy washed over him, strange impressions of emotion and feeling flitting through his consciousness. Daesīdh did not have the sentience of some of the Trees, but it came quite close, only able to send impressions and emotions to the Wielder that had found it at last.

Its presence almost reminded Legolas of a wolf pup who had been reunited with their pack, its joy unbridled but tinged with an overwhelming sense of “us” and “not us”. Underneath the childish presence, there was a sense of danger, reminding him all-too clearly that at its core, Daesīdh was a Weapon forged in the fires of Mount Doom.

In an instant he knew the Black Bow would not hesitate to harm anyone other than him and his fellow Wielders. Like a wild wolf it wanted blood and would viciously attack any who tried to usurp its Wielder. At the moment, it noted the other people in the room and only felt vague disinterest towards them, but Legolas predicted that apathy could change to loathing or bloodlust in a heartbeat.

Legolas took a moment to study the Bow, noting how the light refused to reflect off the black metal, giving it a strangely unearthly look. It did not appear dull, but truly did look like an abyss, almost as if it was comprised of shadows rather than any normal material. Carefully, Legolas laid his palm on the sharp edge of Daesīdh, pressing down. The knife-like side did not harm him and he nodded absently, noting one thing that the Bow was lacking.

“There’s no string.” Pippin mentioned obviously.

Something comparable to annoyance prodded at Legolas’s mind and he felt something _shift_. Like dripping poison or a spider’s web, a black strand stretched through the air before his eyes, seamlessly connecting with the other end of the bow. As the Fellowship gaped at in horrified fascination, Legolas gently pulled on the black string. It was surprisingly warm to the touch, thrumming like a heartbeat in his fingers.

“Oh.” Pippin squeaked.

Legolas ignored him and set Daesīdh on his shoulder, retrieving the Black Arrows and adding them all to his quiver except one. Like the Bow itself, the Arrows were as black as darkness and brutally sharp, their fletching like thin, tiny daggers. Legolas had a feeling that if he stabbed an enemy with the fletching end of the Arrow, it would slice clean through their flesh. It potentially might stab through armor as well if his suspicions were correct.

Again, Legolas carefully touched the sharpest parts of the Weapon, this time the arrowhead. It failed to nick his skin, echoes of Daesīdh’s presence nudging at his mind. Once more, he was reminded of a loyal wild wolf sitting by and letting him pet it. Daesīdh would never hurt him or his fellow Wielders, but others were all at risk of falling to it.

“All of you.” Legolas said clearly, making Merry, Pippin, and Eomer start. “Do not touch Daesīdh. Even if it is laying on the ground, _do not_ pick it up.”

Boromir’s brow furrowed. “Why? What is wrong?”

“Nothing.” Legolas said, placing the last Black Arrow in his quiver. “But I feel that Daesīdh will not take well to anyone handling it other than me or another Wielder. I fear it will react… violently.”

“You speak as if it has a consciousness.” Elladan snorted.

Legolas grimaced.

“…Oh.” Elladan said, eying the Black Bow with much more wariness than he did a few seconds ago. “Are we speaking of vague feelings or actual words?”

“Feelings.” Legolas said shortly. “Very loyal, vague, pack-like feelings.”

“The Wielders are their ‘pack’ then?” Gimli said gruffly, walking into the room.

Legolas blinked as Daesīdh’s… ‘attention’ turned to the dwarf, but rather than anger or indifference, it felt… _welcoming_. Comprehension was quick to dawn and Legolas’s lips twitched into a beaming smile. He was not the only one who knew.

“You. Master Dwarf.” Alatar said to Gimli. “Take Dūrcuil.”

Gimli stepped back and held his axe across his body, ready to swing it at the Wizard’s middle. “As if I would fall for—”

“Gimli, he’s right.” Legolas interjected. “The Axe is _yours_.”

“Gimli’s a Wielder too?” Pippin gasped.

Merry shushed him.

The dwarf quieted, lowering his axe, but his wary gaze never drifted from Alatar. “Now is not the time for jokes, Esgal.” He said stiffly.

“I am not joking. Daesīdh recognizes you.” Legolas explained simply.

He did not elaborate that so far Gimli was the only one his Bow did not potentially want to kill. Emotions flitted across the dwarf’s bearded face; shock, alarm, unease, wonder, and finally, the stubborn determination Legolas knew him for. Gimli strode confidently to Dūrcuil’s stand, reaching out so his hand hovered over the Black Axe’s handle.

“Master Dwarf, if you aren’t certain—” Gandalf began, only to go quiet as Gimi laid his fingers on the Axe.

The Fellowship held their breath as the air itself seemed to shiver, but the runes maintained their peaceful glow and the Axe lay serenely on its stand, unprovoked. Gimli adjusted his hand and carefully picked Dūrcuil up, turning the large battle axe over in his hands. It was the perfect size for the dwarf, though the blades themselves were larger than his head. His eyes went unfocused and a visible shiver went through him.

“Gimli?” Sam asked worriedly.

The dwarf shook himself. “I’m fine, lad. Dūrcuil has quite the boisterous personality.” He grinned. “I already like it.”

“Be wary, Master Dwarf.” Gandalf warned. “Do not forget where the Black Weapons were made.”

Gimli caught Legolas’s eye and nodded absently. “I understand. And I cannot believe I’m agreeing with the elf, but he is right; do _not_ touch the Axe.”

“What will it do to us?” Pippin dared to ask.

Vague violent feelings tinged with sadistic amusement brushed against Legolas’s thoughts. He hid a grimace behind a smooth mask. Unfortunately, the hobbit noticed his lack of expression and recognized what he was trying to hide.

“Oh dear.” He said faintly.

Gimi laid his hand on the blade of the Axe, making Fili gasp and lurch towards him, only for the Prince to stop in place when Gimli pulled his hand away, revealing no wound.

“Dūrcuil will never hurt me.” Gimli murmured, almost awed.

Shadows flitted across his face, washing his child-like wonder away. He lowered the Axe, pointing the sharp blades at the floor with the spear-like pick directed safely towards the ground. Before Legolas could ask what had changed, Alatar shifted position. Both Legolas and Gimli tensed, wary of any treachery, but the Blue Wizard merely folded his hands in the sleeves of his robes. Legolas might have felt embarrassed by his overreaction if not for the huge and consequential fact that the Wizard had recently attacked them. He did not fully trust that they would not do so again if they thought it was best.

He idly noted how Daesīdh hoped the Wizards would start a fight. The Black Bow and Arrows wanted blood.

“It is fate.” Alatar said solemnly. “You both are meant to be here. As is Mornestel’s Wielder.” His gaze sought out the Black Sword, which sat serenely on its stand, its black blade devouring the light around it.

“Are you saying Mornestel’s Wielder is in this Fellowship?” Pallando asked sharply.

Alatar nodded. “That is exactly what I am saying, my friend.”

“Mornestel’s Wielder is a Man, correct?” Frodo asked.

Alatar kept his gaze on the Sword, avoiding looking at the hobbit. “Yes.”

“Well who is it?” Kili asked eagerly. “Who do the other Weapons…” His face twisted. “…like?”

Mischievous glee skittered at the edge of Legolas’s mind, much like a child giggled about a game they played or a secret they held. Yet that childishness was not normally accompanied by a sadistic eagerness as they waited with bated breath for someone to be harmed. Legolas caught Gimli’s eye and the dwarf shrugged helplessly, expression noticeably stiff. Was he as disturbed by the Weapons’ secrecy as the elf?

Legolas winced. “They refuse to share. They want each of you to try.”

Aragorn, Boromir, and Eomer looked at each other. None made a move towards the Black Sword.

“Wait.” Merry said. “They know what we are talking about? They can _understand_ us?”

“Yes. Esgal explained that.” Gimli said casually.

Merry’s skin blanched. The hobbit inched backwards until his back hit the wall by the door. “How can you say that so flippantly? They’re sentient weapons.”

“I wouldn’t call them sentient.” Legolas corrected.

“They still react to the world around them.” Eomer murmured. “I… do not think I am the one to wield such a weapon.”

Brief disappointment jabbed at Legolas’s thoughts. Again like a child, Daesīdh hastily tried to cover up the emotion. “Don’t touch it.” Legolas said sharply. “Mornestel is not yours.”

Eomer relaxed. “I was not intending to, though I suppose the confirmation is appreciated.”

If Daesīdh had features, Legolas was certain it would be pouting. He might be amused if the Black Weapon’s game was not so malicious. They hoped for the wrong person to attempt to swing Mornestel and suffer from the Weapons’ curse. It was disturbing to think that the Black Weapons found such subterfuge worth it just to cause someone pain in the short period of time between the false choice and Mornestel’s true Wielder demanding the curse be lifted.

Abruptly, Boromir’s shoulders straightened. “Let me try first, Aragorn.”

“No.” the Ranger protested without pause.

Boromir raised a hand to stall any more objections. “You are already weakened. If you are not meant to be the Wielder, the Black Weapons’ curse could kill you too quickly for the true Wielder to stop it.” His eyes glinted. “Besides, you are my future King. I cannot risk letting more harm befall you.”

Aragorn did not reply. Instead he stood beside Boromir before the Black Sword, silver gaze never drifting from its harsh, shadowy blade. Comprehension dawned on Legolas just a moment too late. He lunged for his friend, fingers outstretched.

“ _Don’t—!_ ”

Aragorn’s fingers wrapped around Mornestel and he lifted it from the stand, swinging it up and bringing it into an upright position before him. Instantly, he crumpled to his knees, hunching forward as his skin went ashen. His silver eyes rolled back into his head and he slumped sideways to the floor, landing with a low thud as the Sword’s blade clattered against the stone.

“ _Estel!_ ” Elrohir screamed.

He knelt at his brother’s side, reaching for the Sword still in his grasp. Gimli stopped his hand by grasping his wrist.

“Don’t touch it, foolish elf!” the dwarf bellowed.

Legolas reached his fallen friend’s side and yanked Mornestel from Aragorn’s limp fingers. A brief pulse of disappointment shirked at the edge of his thoughts but Mornestel did not harm its kin’s Wielder. Foreign anger was quick to replace the disappointment as Boromir reached out and Legolas quickly pulled the Sword out of his reach.

“It’s not yours either.” He said quickly, backing away for good measure.

Boromir’s skin drained of color. “What? But then…?”

“Mornestel’s Wielder is not among you.” Alatar said gravely.

Agitation stabbed at Legolas’s mind and he swore Mornestel trembled in rage in his hand. The elf quickly reinforced his mental shields, blocking out the Black Sword. Daesīdh cackled, amused by the turn of events, and Gimli’s hard look suggested Dūrcuil projected a similar sentiment.

Gandalf, Elladan, and Elrohir all gathered around Aragorn, checking him over with both mundane and magical means. Elrohir looked up first, jaw clenched and silver eyes wild with terror.

“He is unconscious. I cannot say whether it is because of his wounds or…”

“Or he has fallen under the Black Weapons’ curse.” Gandalf finished grimly.

Elladan’s fingers pressed against Aragorn’s neck. “His pulse is weak.” Silver eyes desperately sought out Eomer. “Please, you _have_ to be the Wielder!”

Eomer’s visage stiffened. “I’m not—”

“The Wielder has to give him permission to use the Weapon.” Elladan said rapidly, voice strained and breathy. “That will lift the curse, like Esgal did with—” His breathing stuttered and desperate silver eyes landed on Legolas. “Legolas, _please_! Can’t you do something?”

“Legolas?” Eomer whispered.

“ _Legolas?!_ ” Fili spluttered.

“Who’s Legolas?” Pippin asked innocently.

Gandalf looked pained.

Legolas ignored that development, looking at the cold black blade he held. _Mornestel?_

The Black Weapon ignored him completely, not gracing him with the slightest response. Daesīdh continued cackling as if the situation was the funniest thing it ever witnessed. Legolas glanced helplessly at Gimli, who stared back with a befuddled expression, like he had never seen the elf before. A similar gaze was on Fili and Kili’s faces.

“I’m… sorry.” Legolas said, unsure what he was apologizing for.

The Temple shuddered. Boromir staggered into Legolas and the elf caught him, carefully maneuvering him so he did not so much as brush Mornestel. Another tremor went through the Temple, and even the elves stumbled, with Merry and Kili falling to their knees.

Alatar’s skin went white. “No…”

For a moment, just a moment, everything was silent and still.

And then something _roared_. The cacophony of sound barely formed before it was replaced by a resounding crack, louder than even the closest bolt of lightning. Legolas and the other elves cried out, covering their ears as the sound assaulted them, leaving them to stagger as the ground shuddered and shook. Alatar lost his footing, falling to his hands and knees as his hat fell from his head, revealing his greying hair.

Again, the sound vanished as quickly as it came and false serenity fell over the Temple. Dust fell from the ceiling and onto the stunned Fellowship, Easterlings, and Wizards, covering their clothes with a layer of grime. Legolas shook his head, trying to clear his ringing ears, and in the distance, he heard shifting stone.

Kili was the one to break the silence as he pulled himself off the ground. “What _was_ that?”

Alatar slowly stood up, retrieving his hat from the ground and gently returning it to his head. When he looked up, his eyes were dull, the light in them vanquished by hopeless resignation.

“If I am not mistaken, that was the Void destroying the mountain.” The Blue Wizard said, and Legolas’s heart stopped. “It is as we feared. You have led the enemy right to us.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m truly, genuinely sorry for the cliffhangers. They just happen! And sorry for the long wait. My computer went kaput last Tuesday night. As in black screen of death. Not even blue screen of death. Black screen. It turned off and when it turned on it was a big old mess. Cue frantic search for a replacement I think the motherboard or hard-drive went bad. Thank goodness I had all my documents elsewhere…
> 
> And now Fanfiction is not letting me upload the chapter over there. *muffled screaming*
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	21. Goodbye, Hello, Hollow

**THOOM!**

The menacing rumble shook the earth, followed swiftly by the scraping of crumbling stones. Legolas saw each mote of dust that trickled from the ceiling. He raced to the door, Daesīdh and Mornestel in his grasp, and the Black Bow vibrated with repressed excitement at the prospect of battle. Pallando lunged for him but he evaded the Blue Wizard's grasp, flicking a throwing dagger into his palm. Pallando wisely raised his hands.

"I apologize." he said. "You cannot run out there."

"They must." Alatar interrupted before Legolas could reply. His sharp eyes flicked from the elf to Gimli and back. "You  _must_  go. There is a safe passage out of the Temple. It should allow you to pass by our enemies without being noticed." He raised his hand, stopping any protests before they could be voiced. "You have the Weapons, and two of the Wielders. You  _must_  leave with them."

"If the Void is here we should fight him." Gimli argued. He gestured, shoving Dūrcuil at the Blue Wizard. "Or what do you think these are for? Sitting on a stand and looking pretty?"

Alatar remained unmoved. "You need to leave and attack the Void when he is  _not_  expecting you." He looked to the Easterlings, who stared back dispassionately. "We will cover your escape."

"We cannot leave you." Sam protested.

The Wizard shook his head, rigid and unmoving. "You must. You  _will_. The Temple is now an empty sanctuary. There is nothing worth protecting here."

"He is right." Gandalf said before Sam could protest again. The Wizard's blue eyes were shadowed. "We cannot needlessly defend the Temple. It has served its purpose. We must move on."

Sam looked helplessly from the Grey Wizard to the two Blue. "At least come with us. You do not need to throw your lives away."

Alatar's stern gaze softened slightly. "Your heart is too kind, Master Hobbit. But this is our  _purpose_. Do not try to make us shirk it."

That silenced Sam, though he still looked miserable.

"Aragorn needs assistance." Elladan interrupted tightly.

The elf still knelt by the Ranger with his twin, whose smelling salts did not rouse him. Legolas forced his gaze away from Aragorn's still, pale frame. Instead he glared at Mornestel. Daesīdh's warning hiss suggested the Black Sword had not taken kindly to his glower, but even when irritated, Mornestel would not harm another Wielder. Legolas shoved Mornestel into its sheathe, placing it on his back. Daesīdh whined in protest but he hushed it.

"We must leave." Gandalf repeated. "Esgal, where is the enemy?"

"Why did Elladan call him 'Legolas' earlier?" Pippin whispered.

"Not the time, Pippin." Merry hissed.

Fili gave a startled, high-pitched laugh. The dwarf clearly knew the significance of that name. Legolas decided to address that at a later time. Or maybe not at all if he could avoid it. He closed his eyes and cast his senses out, identifying the large group of presences outside. He could vaguely sense Shadowed Elves, Men, orcs, and some strange, drifting presences that flickered strangely. It was almost like they were not truly there...

Another presence took his breath away. He retreated before he could truly sense it, but even that small glimpse felt like a knife directly to his heart. It was not merely Dark like Minas Morgul or the Witch-King. It was  _hollow_. It was  _nothing_. It was only a chilling, endless void of absolute emptiness that would drive Legolas mad if he tried to look into it too long. That mere half-glance was enough to steal the assassin's breath from his chest, as if a simple look had nearly caused his soul to be torn from his body. He dare not scrutinize that brief glimpse of that unfeeling, hollow existence or the futility may overwhelm him.

Daeīdh snarled protectively at the edge of his thoughts, and Legolas could almost appreciate the irony that such a dark weapon seemed soothing when compared to the emptiness he just experienced. There was no question as to who— or what— the presence belonged to.

"Legolas!"

Legolas came back to himself and realized he was on the ground. He blinked the blurriness clouding his vision away to see Eomer and Gimli looking down at him. "I'm alright." He clasped the man's offered arm and allowed him to pull him up. "The enemy is outside of the mountain on the western side." he reported.

"What's  _left_  of the mountain." Gimli growled.

Legolas ignored him. "Iãgaw is here."

Alatar's face drained of color. "You sensed him?"

"Yes." Legolas said shortly. "Elrohir, do  _not_  attempt to do the same. The Void is... It is..." He trailed off, shivering.

Elrohir barely noticed. He picked up Aragorn, settling him over his shoulder. "Lead us to the exit. Too many of us are injured to risk a confrontation with Iãgaw now."

The Easterlings looked to Legolas and Gimli. Legolas exchanged a glance with his fellow Wielder and grimaced.

"Very well." Legolas said heavily. "Do as he says, please."

A couple Easterlings broke away from the group and one gestured for the Fellowship to follow. Gimli lead the way out, and Legolas waited for the others to exit first. Elrohir did the same, with Eomer hovering nearby, glancing worriedly at Aragorn. Legolas stood in place until they exited the door and made to take up the rear of their group. He paused when Alatar smiled.

"May you find victory in the future." the Blue Wizard said calmly. "Fare thee well."

Legolas could only nod. They both knew the Wizards would not survive this fight. The assassin hurried after the rest of the Fellowship. He took the steps two at a time, halting only to brace himself as another shudder went through the Temple. Sam was less lucky, having just stepped on the edge of a stair, and he wavered. Only Kili's quick reflexes saved him from a nasty tumble back down.

"Thank you." He said.

He hobbled for a couple paces and Legolas wondered if he had twisted his ankle. Eomer helped brace Elrohir and Aragorn as yet another tremor shook the earth. Elrohir cursed softly, glancing at the ceiling.

"We are running out of time." He glared over his shoulder at Aragorn, lips thinned and eyes swimming with frustrated, terrified tears.

Eomer saw the expression and voiced what the elf could not. "Your brother is a noble fool." His blue eyes shifted to the Ranger and he gritted his teeth. "You should not have touched Mornestel. But… I understand why you did." His gaze drifted behind him to the sword on Legolas's back. "Your desire to defend this world with something so… so  _dark_  is admirable. I commend you for it, Aragorn."

Aragorn's eyes fluttered. Elrohir gasped but could not lay his brother down to check on him. The Ranger remained unconscious, and the elf's face fell. They made it to the top of the stairs and down a thin hallway.

One of the Easterlings paused at a blank wall and pressed a stone near its top. It rumbled lowly and swung aside, revealing a dark passageway. The other Easterling grabbed a torch from the wall, gesturing for the others to do the same. Boromir and Fili obliged. They hurried into the darkness, and Legolas closed the passageway behind them without being asked. The stone corridor sloped slowly upward, and Legolas was relieved to find no traps in this one.

"Where are we going to exit outside of the Temple?" Boromir asked.

The Easterlings stared at him.

" _(Where are we going to exit outside of the Temple?)_ " Legolas asked in the Easterling's language.

" _(At the base of the mountain.)_ " the assassin with a torch replied in a soft, lilting voice. " _(Our comrade will be waiting with horses a few leagues away.)_ "

" _(Thank you)._ " Legolas said. "We'll exit at the base of the mountain." He reported.

"That means we'll likely have to fight some of Iãgaw's forces." Gandalf murmured.

"Let them come!" Gimli growled, brandishing Dūrcuil.

Aragorn groaned, shifting on Elrohir's back. The elf froze in place as his brother's eyes opened. His silver irises were barely visible around the blackness of his expanded pupils.

"What is happening?" Aragorn mumbled weakly.

"The enemy is here. We are leaving." Elrohir said, voice clipped.

Aragorn laid his head against the elf's back, breathing heavily. "I cannot fight." he admitted.

Legolas's stomach twisted.

"Do you feel the Black Weapon's curse?" Elrohir asked shakily.

It took ten heartbeats for Aragorn to respond. "I do not know? My… my wounds are burning..." He trailed off, slumping.

Elrohir hissed a curse.

"Oh dear." Sam whispered, distressed.

"Aragorn is unconscious." Elrohir confirmed testily.

"And we're facing an army." Merry murmured.

"Indeed." Elladan said levelly, but the tendon in his jaw quivered. "Pick a couple off and retreat. Do not allow them to corner you."

"We should also stay together." Legolas added. "If the Void truly is here, it could be fatal to separate."

"I hope the legend that the Black Weapons will protect us from that life-draining power of his is true." Fili said faintly.

Daesīdh's projected smugness suggested it was. Legolas sighed in relief but did not share that information with the Fellowship. He did not want to give the others a false sense of security if the Black Weapon's assurance came from arrogance rather than truth.

"Let me take him." Eomer said abruptly. "Then you can watch him."

Elrohir hesitated but nodded. He carefully handed Aragorn over to Eomer, who grunted, adjusting his hold on the unconscious man. Elrohir hovered at their side the entire way, expression pained.

They continued on, halting at the end of the tunnel and an Easterling took out a knife. He slashed his palm, pressing it against the stone in front of him, and it glowed red. Slowly, the rock shifted aside, but before Legolas could relax, the Easterling's legs buckled. Boromir caught him before he could hit the ground, touching his neck instinctively, and the man gasped.

"He's  _dead_."

A shudder went through the other Easterling and he knelt next to his comrade, briefly gripping his hand and bowing his head. Legolas put a hand on Sam's arm to stop him from speaking, giving the assassin a moment to grieve. After a pause, the Easterling stood, eyes hard once more as he exited the tunnel. Gandalf halted next to the fallen Easterling and touched the assassin's face. His gaze darkened.

"Another sacrificial blood ritual." Gandalf said, voice low. "Alatar, Pallando, what became of you…?"

He shook himself and walked out into the sun. Legolas winced, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness, and blinked at the large hunks of stone surrounding them. He slowly recognized them as pieces of the mountain, and a chill went up his spine. His head snapped up.

"Incoming!"

Armored enemies jumped down from above, landing among the Fellowship. Legolas stabbed one through the eye and ripped his dagger free. Gimli struck a Shadowed Elf in the gut while Boromir separated an orc's head from its body. Legolas spotted more enemies on the remains of the mountain. As one, the archers aimed and fired at them, sending their bodies plunging to the ground.

Daesīdh whined in disappointment when Legolas used his old bow, but the elf could not afford to lose any Black Arrows. That appeased the Black Weapon somewhat as it preened at the confirmation that it was irreplaceable. Legolas shook his head, exasperated by its childlike nature. Truly, these were the Weapons meant to—

Panic tore through his mental shields as Mornestel  _shrieked_.

Legolas acted on instinct and a knife appeared in his hand. Faster than a blink he threw it at Eomer, who flinched. The knife flew past his and Aragorn's heads, sinking into the throat of the Shadowed Elf that had been sneaking up behind them. Eomer stared at the dead enemy for a second before glancing back at the assassin.

"...Thank you." he said.

Legolas considered the Prince of Rohan and the Heir of Isildur he carried, a suspicion prodding at his mind. He did not voice it. He could not afford to be wrong. A man raced at him and he aimed his bow— the  _Black Bow_ — and realized too late that he'd released a Black Arrow. It struck the man in the neck and he crumpled, dead before he hit the floor.

Not wasting time to gape at the unnatural suddenness of his demise, Legolas retrieved the Black Arrow, yanking it from the man's neck. Like a child with a new toy, Daesīdh squealed in delight, happy to be used in battle at last.

Legolas compromised and used the Bow to fire his regular arrows, taking out a few distant foes along with the other archers. Something brushed the edge of his consciousness and his head snapped towards the treeline ahead.

"Everyone, get back into the tunnel." he snapped.

No one questioned him. Boromir grabbed Merry and Pippin and carried them into the tunnel, while the others rushed inside single file. Legolas and Gimli remained at the entrance, standing just inside the stone and the protection it hopefully would provide.

Legolas's gaze was drawn to the treeline far away and the odd, alive-but-not presences— thankfully not the Void's— prodded at his senses. As he watched, a mist fell over the land ahead of them, and vague, green-tinged figures appeared among it. A chill fell over the Fellowship, and their breath puffed in the air as the temperature steadily dropped. Slowly, the figures emerged from the fog, yet even then they remained translucent and faded.

He heard Elrohir gasp. "The Oathbreakers." he breathed.

The King of the Dead glared at the elf, who tensed, a shudder going through him. Aragorn shifted on his back but he did not wake to see the men that had not come to his ancestor's aid as they had promised.

"What are you doing here?" Gandalf demanded of the ghosts."

"Is it not obvious?" The Ghost King asked coolly. "We work for the Void."

The hobbits had no reaction, but those who were aware of the Oathbreakers' tale could only stare at the ghosts in disgust.

"He seeks to destroy Arda!" Gandalf thundered. "How can you side with such a monster again?"

The King of the Dead was unaffected by his rage. "He can free us." the Ghost King said. "Since Sauron is defeated,  _no one else can_. Our oath was to fight Sauron alongside Isildur. We can no longer keep our side of the deal, so no one can release us, not even the Heir of Isildur." Elrohir and Elladan moved defensively in front of Eomer— and by extension, Aragorn. "This is the  _only way_  we can be freed."

Gandalf raised his staff. "Then we will do what we must."

Light flared like a fallen star and he blasted the King of the Dead, but the light passed harmlessly through him and his ghostly men. Merry whimpered softly.

The Ghost King smiled coldly. "Your magic cannot slay us, Wizard. You can  _try_."

"'Try'?" Gimli echoed. "Bah! A dwarf does not settle for  _trying_!"

Before anyone could stop him he lunged, swinging at the Ghost King. The specter stared in cold disinterest as Dūrcuil arced towards his midsection, only to gape as it sliced through him. The Ghost King fell to the ground in two pieces and faded into nothingness.

Gimli blinked. "Oh. That worked." He grinned viciously. "Who's next?"

A few of the ghosts backed away, fleeing into the trees. The rest rushed forward. Gimli met them with a roar, spinning in a circle and taking out ten in one sweep. Legolas raised Daesīdh and aimed, firing. The Black Arrow sank into the ghost's forehead with a wet  _thunk_ , snapping his head back. The ghostly form crumpled to the ground and vanished into smoke.

The Arrow vanished with it, disintegrating into ash.

Legolas cursed mentally, dropping his hand from the quiver of Arrows. "I fear I have limited Black Arrows." He reported, deceptively calm.

"You're  _joking_!" Kili spluttered as he angrily fired an arrow at the ghosts, only for them to pass harmlessly through the faded figures. Fili stopped his brother from reaching for another arrow, shaking his head.

"I am not joking." Legolas said testily. "It appears that killing the unkillable disintegrates my Arrows."

"Blasted elf!" Gimli growled. "Of all the times to leave it to me… Not that I'm complaining, of course."

He beheaded another ghost with a grin. Daesīdh pouted and whined about being left out, insisting the Legolas join in, but the assassin gently declined the offer. He needed the Arrows for Iãgaw. As for the Bow—

A green haze filled his vision. Legolas paused long enough to adjust his grip on the Bow, swinging it at a ghost. It sliced his neck open and he fell with a soundless gurgle, fading away. The assassin smiled. Apparently the Bow was as sharp as it appeared. He apologized to Daesīdh for his previous denial, but the Bow was too busy squealing in glee to notice or care.

Gimli glowered. "Show off!"

"Get  _back_ _here_." Fili snapped at the dwarf. "The passageway is more easily defensible."

Gimli grumbled but retreated to the entrance of the passage. A few of the ghosts grinned and floated to the mountain, only to bounce off the stone instead of passing through it. Silently thanking the Blue Wizards, Legolas and Gimli slashed every ghost that approached, not letting a single one by. Legolas struck high, Gimli struck low, and no matter how many ghosts tried to swarm them, none were allowed to reach their friends.

Eventually, the green haze of translucent figures faded, and the mist faded with it. The cold stopped pricking Legolas's skin and he breathed a sigh of relief.

"That could have been messy." Gimli said casually, putting Dūrcuil over his shoulder.

"Thank you, Daesīdh." Legolas said, and the Black Bow preened.

Another stab of agitation echoed through Daesīdh's bond with its fellow Weapons and Gimli winced. "Blast it, Mornestel! Stop  _sulking_ like a rejected maiden."

The Black Sword hissed. Not in Legolas's mind, but audibly like an enraged serpent. Pippin stared at the incensed Weapon and backed away from it, eyes round.

"Don't mind it, lad." Gimli said gruffly. "Mornestel is just grumpy about its lack of a Wielder at the moment."

Smug amusement prodded at Legolas's thoughts. After all, Daesīdh had been found by its Wielder first.

Elladan walked out of the passageway, glaring at the place the final ghost had faded in. "It's awful enough that Void is using corrupted elves to fight us," he growled. "But to use cursed souls as soldiers…?"

"I cannot believe they sided with him." Boromir murmured.

"They had no hope left." Gandalf said gravely. "They felt it when Sauron was destroyed, and knew that he had been defeated without them. They had no chance to redeem themselves."

"Do you think that they will go to the Halls of Mandos?" Legolas asked quietly. "We killed them, not released them. Did they die or did their spirits fade completely?"

Gandalf hesitated. "I… do not know." He shook himself. "There could be more. We must be prepared."

"We are lucky we ran into them when we did. If we were in an open area, we would be overwhelmed." Frodo murmured.

"Now is not the time to think of what may have happened." Fili interrupted. "We are in the middle of an escape in case you have forgotten?"

"How could we forget, brother?" Kili asked cheerfully.

He ducked and an arrow struck the stone by his head. He returned fire and his enemy fell. The others ran forward fearlessly, driven only by their master's desires to see the Fellowship dead. Legolas stabbed an orc and threw its body at its kin, knocking them down.

Merry darted in and stabbed two of the orcs before he was forced to retreat, barely evading a swing from an axe. Legolas disposed of the final orc and turned, retrieving a Black Arrow and firing. It shot through three orcs before embedding itself in a tree.

Legolas retrieved it, and the remaining Easterling halted at his side, motioning for the others to follow. " _(This way. Hurry.)_ "

"Come on!" Legolas called to the stragglers.

Eomer sliced a Shadowed Elf's throat and ran to his side, sword blackened with blood. Aragorn hung limply from his back, oblivious to the carnage around him. The rest of the Fellowship hurried after them and they retreated into the trees. A rumble shook the earth and Legolas looked back in time to see the mountain crumble in on itself, sending dust and dirt into the sky like smoke from a wildfire. He closed his eyes, taking a breath, and turned away, following the Easterling into the woods.

" _(How far until we reach your comrade and the horses?)_ " he asked.

" _(A few hours.)_ " the Easterling replied. " _(We prepared for this.)_ "

Legolas forced himself to swallow the lump in his throat. " _(Thank you, my friend.)_ "

Soon heavy breathing and the crackle of twigs breaking under their feet became all they heard, and Legolas could not be more grateful. Aragorn was still unconscious, Frodo was paling rapidly, and Sam had a noticeable limp. Boromir murmured a question and scooped the hobbit up a second later. Sam's ears were red but he did not protest, gripping Boromir's shoulders tightly as he was carried along.

"Legolas, are we clear?" Gandalf asked abruptly.

Legolas cast his senses out. "There are no enemies nearby—"

Emptiness rushed through him and he fell to his knees, gasping. He was  _drowningstarvingemptyweakeningnothingthere'snothingdyingstopstopstopstopstopstop **stop—**_  Daesīdh shrieked in worry in his mind and he clung to the Black Weapon's presence, using it to drag himself out of the vile aura that tried to consume him. Sweat beaded his brow and his chest heaved, bile clogging his throat.

"Esgal!" Kili gasped. "What's wrong?"

Legolas could not find his voice to warn them.

Pippin screamed.

Legolas's head snapped up, and a chill settled in his heart.

Alatar and Pallando's dead eyes stared blankly at the Fellowship, their expressions permanently etched into looks of horror and fear. Their bodies hung from the trees, each impaled through the chest by a black branch. Seeing the limited amount of blood around the wounds, Legolas knew it was not the impalement that had killed them.

Below them, sitting casually on a tree stump, was what appeared to be an elf. His hair was blacker than the darkest of nights. His skin and clothes were equally dark, drawing in the light around him and devouring it like a tasty treat. His eyes were red pools of blood as he stared neutrally at the Fellowship, his head tipped in a thoughtful, contemplative manner.

Legolas wished he could delude himself into questioning who—  _what_ — this 'elf' was.

Iãgaw smiled, revealing pearly, shark-like teeth. "Hello there. Oh, I must apologize for arriving without warning you. Were you hoping to avoid me?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh wow. A cliffhanger. I bet none of you were expecting that. *innocent whistling*
> 
> And no, I totally did not randomly decide to update at eleven on a Tuesday night because I was bored and went "It's Wednesday somewhere". Why would you think that? ;)


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